G is for Gabrielle
by polkaking2
Summary: PreDH,PostHBP AU. HG HrR Gabrielle Various POV. Read and review. Gabrielle hopes to prove, contrary to her family's doubts, that there is a reason Harry saved her and that she is a proper witch. She finds pets, talent, a wand, and a love.
1. Can I Try That Again

Chapter One - Can I Try That Again?

Gabrielle smiled to herself. Today would be her day. She had it all carefully plotted out: she had assembled an outfit that would make her look a bit older and mature, she had found a new way to do up her hair, and she had even worked on properly aspirating English words. Gabrielle was sure she would be able to catch Harry's eye again. Only this time it would not be as a forgotten hostage at the bottom of a lake in a stupid game. Gabrielle was confident enough to head down to the Weasley breakfast table still dressed in her favorite housecoat. It was comfortable, and there was no way she was going to risk her outfit - particularly if she ended up sitting across from her future brother-in-law Ron and his atrocious manners.

Gabrielle had just come into the kitchen, and noticed with some annoyance that the first morning she was not dressed was the first morning all heads turned toward her. "Bon Matin!" Gabrielle smiled to the turned faces, trying to light up the room as her older sister was able to do. The fact that even Ron went back to breakfast with a muttered greeting meant that it had not worked.

"Good morning to you, Gabrielle dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted her. "Would you like some toast and, er, coffee is it?"

"Yes, merci," Gabrielle nodded. She gave her sister a questioning look. The table was more crowded than it normally was. Were even more wedding guests going to be staying here?

"It eez okay Gabrielle - I believe zey sought 'Arry would be coming down," Fleur whispered. Gabrielle froze reaching for the marmalade.

"Oi, maybe we shouldn't have sent Ginny after him then!" laughed Fred.

"We can give him a bit of a lie-in after the late night flying. Another five should do it, then we can try out the new, er..." trailed George, who finally notice Mrs. Weasley's glare.

"(He is here?)" Gabrielle whispered to her sister Fleur.

"Oh yes. 'Arry arrived early for the, er, (security)" replied Fleur with just a bit of a laugh in her voice. A laugh Gabrielle knew was at her expense.

Gabrielle lifted her robe sleeve from her sister's toast, which was thickly spread with jam - unusual for Fleur. She turned to her sister and whispered more forcefully, "(He is here? Now?)" Gabrielle stood suddenly when her sister said nothing but smiled. "(You knew! Why did you not tell me?)" Fleur smiled a bit wider at that, a smug smile in Gabrielle's opinion. Gabrielle looked down at her housecoat. It was her favorite of course, but it was also faded and worn and even a little frayed at the bottom where it used to drag when she was shorter. And there was the reddish purple spot from the jam. It was not what she wanted to wear for meeting Harry again. It did not announce the new Gabrielle. It was not her plan.

A thump from above pulled Gabrielle's attention back to the present. With high-pitched angry growl, Gabrielle bolted for the kitchen door ignoring the many exclamations. She could make it back upstairs before Harry came down. Gabrielle barreled through the door at full speed, grabbing the jamb to swing herself toward the stairs. This maneuver, well practiced at the Delacour manor house much to Maman's displeasure, gave Gabrielle maximum speed up the stairs. It did not give her much opportunity to avoid the people already on those stairs, as the Weasley's stairs were much closer to the door than the stairs at home. As Gabrielle rocketed upward she slammed into the tall body jumping down the last few steps. Gabrielle let out a gasp as the air was driven from her lungs, ricocheted into the bannister with a solid crack, and finally smacked her head on the floor as she finished her backward arc.

It was a few seconds before Gabrielle realized how much pain she felt. She squeezed her eyes shut - the room was spinning a bit, and felt around to the back of her head. It had hit the ground really hard and Gabrielle was wondering if she needed to perhaps hold her brain in. The feeling of something running down her neck alerted Gabrielle to the fact that she was also bleeding. She definitely felt dizzy now, and she could really use her Maman. Someone was shouting something, but it sounded funny.

"_Episky!_ Are you all right Gabrielle?" asked a voice she couldn't quite place. Gabrielle was glad for the healing spell as the possibility of bleeding to death was now gone. On the other hand, she was sure she felt something squashy and moist in her hair. She had dashed her brains out! Maman had warned her about this.

"Gabrielle? Can you hear me?" asked the voice.

Gabrielle opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. The dizzy feeling swept her up, and her vision started to tunnel in as she looked into the concerned, bright green eyes. The voice had been Harry's, the healing spell had been his too. She could see her sister and the other Weasleys filling in behind him.

His eyes are the same color as the pickled toads in the new jar Maman just brought home, wondered Gabrielle, just before the whole scene grayed. I wonder if he knows this, she thought as she lost consciousness.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle opened her eyes, blinking at the light. An older woman pulled away her wand.

"There Miss Delacour, feeling a bit better now?" Gabrielle recognized the woman as the healer she had met at the TriWizard tournament. Her voice sounded muffled though. The healer had a French sounding name... Pomfrey, that was it.

"I am Madam Pomfrey, the healer at Hogwarts. I'm not sure you remember me..."

"I do remember - we met at zee TriWizard tournament," Gabrielle said. Thinking back to her injuries, Gabrielle asked, "I did not lose zee brain, did I?"

That brought a chuckle from Madam Pomfrey, "No dear, although your mother expected the very same when we contacted her. No, no lasting harm was done. The headache will go and your ear will be as good as new. All you need is some rest."

"My ear?" Gabrielle wondered, reaching up to discover the wad of bandages on the side of her head.

"Yes. It was badly cut and swelling when I got here, although Mr Potter had stopped the bleeding before bringing you back up here," Pomfrey replied.

Wonderful, thought Gabrielle, just the same helpless little girl in need of rescue.

"I'm afraid I'm all out of the Bruise-Be-Gone unction - perhaps Molly still has some. Raising all those boys - you can hardly go without it," continued the medi-witch. "The bruising on your face will fade naturally, of course, but I can pop round perhaps tomorrow with some if Molly is short. You should rest your head today. And do be more careful on the stairs. Your mother says the same."

Resting seemed reasonable to Gabrielle, whose head was beginning to hurt trying to concentrate on Madam Pomfrey's English. Gabrielle closed her eyes again as Madam Pomfrey left and her sister entered.

"(That was quite the display this morning Gabrielle. You certainly turned heads and grabbed their attention.)" Fleur chided. Fleur, in Gabrielle's opinion, spoke about getting attention way too much. It was a not too subtle insult of Gabrielle's weak attempts to use the Veela heritage she was supposedly born with. Gabrielle knew she was a quarter Veela from her Grandmere's side, but she did not seem to have any special allure. Especially not when compared to Fleur, a comparison Fleur liked to make. Perhaps her quarter of Veela didn't include her face.

"(Madame Pomfrey said all you needed was some rest. Are you feeling better?)" asked Gabrielle's sister as she stepped to the bed. "(Oh my God! Gabrielle - your face. It is horrible! And my wedding is only five days from now. You are such a silly little girl! Your childish behavior has ruined things again!)" shouted Fleur. Gabrielle sighed as her older sister began her tirade. Gabrielle knew that 'The List' would soon be recited. Fleur was like Gabrielle's personal photo album, recording every humiliation in detail so she could remind Gabrielle why she would always be the 'silly little girl' and should listen to her advice. The only reason to pay anymore attention was morbid curiosity as to which incident would be dredged up. Perhaps it would be the time when she was five and convinced herself she had Dragon Pox. She nearly poisoned herself trying to concoct a potion for treatment, making Fleur miss a birthday party while the healers forced her to vomit. Or maybe it would be the 'Floo Fiasco' when she was seven. Using the extra handful of floo powder she had sneaked, while already in the network, had not given her the extra speed she had expected. It had blown out fourteen hearths, including the Delacour hearth, putting a serious dent into Fleur's social life and her into hospital. Gabrielle was still doing chores twice a year to thank Madam Chouisse for taking care of her after shooting from the ruined Chouisse hearth into the wall.

Ah, thought Gabrielle, something more recent: the 'Coffee Caper'. Gabrielle had slipped away from her sister while shopping in muggle Paris and had a wonderful coffee in a small coffeehouse. Fleur's frantic search had cut short her shopping trip, as Gabrielle had dallied too long and had not made it back before Fleur had finished thoroughly ransacking the boutique, leaving with nothing yet again.

Gabrielle suddenly noticed Fleur had paused and was looking at her. "(Eh... I am sorry?)" Gabrielle tried.

Fleur exploded again, "(You are not even paying attention! I should have made you a flower girl and not a bridesmaid. That way your absence would cause less upheaval.)"

"(What?)" gasped Gabrielle. Maybe she should have paid more more attention to Fleur after all.

"(You silly little girl, I can not have such a mangled face in my wedding party. You are ugly.)" scolded Fleur.

"(What about Bill?)" asked Gabrielle, and instantly regretted her thoughtless words.

Fleur pulled out her wand and cast a silencing charm on Gabrielle, and a none too gentle slapping charm. "(My William is a warrior, a curse-breaker. He stood between silly children like yourself and that vile creature Frenrir. You will respect and honor his scars because he got them serving the greater good, not while trying to impress 'Arry Potter.)" Fleur turned her back on Gabrielle, "(I expect some sign of atonement to William,)" as she closed the door behind her.

Well that was stupid of me, thought Gabrielle, why did I say that? Maybe she will believe it was the lump on my head talking.

A short time later there was a knock on her door. Gabrielle tried to ask who it was, but as the silencing spell had not worn off it was no use.

"Gabrielle? I thought I'd just see how you were doing."

It was Harry. Could I look anymore ridiculous, Gabrielle wondered? She was lying in bed with an ugly face, a huge wad of gauze on her ear, and no ability to speak. The door started to open, and Gabrielle feigned sleep.

With her eyes closed Gabrielle heard Harry come into the room. "Oh, umm, sorry," he murmured. Gabrielle hoped he would leave directly, but she could hear the scrape of the chair when he sat down. Gabrielle would have rolled over while pretending to sleep to face away from him, but the grotesque mass of bandages on her ear prevented that. She tried to remember whether the chair next to the bed was comfortable or not. If I survive this day, thought Gabrielle, I will leave tomorrow. Fleur will remove me from the wedding party and I will return home until the wedding day.

Gabrielle heard the door open again and someone came in. She hoped it was not Fleur coming to further vent her anger.

"'Lo again Harry, how is she doing?" It was Ginny - Gabrielle was sharing her room.

"I think she's sleeping. Pomfrey said she would need rest, but she was conscious before," Harry reported. Gabrielle heard something being placed on the table next to the bed, and then a good bit of rustling.

"Gin - what're you doing?" whispered Harry.

"I've missed you," she said simply. The quiet sounds that followed were familiar to Gabrielle from Bill's visits to Fleur at Delacour Manor, and she blushed a little at the thought.

"Ginny, I've missed you over the summer too. But, I meant what I said at... at the funeral. We can't be together - it would be too much to worry about," whispered Harry. It didn't sound like Ginny had moved though, and they were apparently kissing again. Gabrielle opened one eye the tiniest slit. Yes, they were kissing all right. She closed her eyes again, but not before Ginny had smiled at her.

"So we're not together. That doesn't mean I have to ignore you when we're alone," replied Ginny.

"We're not alone now Ginny. We're never alone here, really. We can't not be together - um, I mean - look, if we are not a couple then you can't go snogging me whenever you get a chance. Someone will see us and it might get back to the bloody Death Eaters and Voldemort," whispered Harry. Gabrielle barely contained her startle at the name.

"You know, Harry, these arguments would mean more if they came before the snogging and not after. Oh don't make that face - just a few more and I'll stop," chided Ginny. By the sounds of it, Gabrielle was pretty sure Harry had agreed.

"Gin - I know it'll be rough on the both of us," began Harry.

"Shush Harry," Ginny interrupted, "it makes you feel better, and I know it makes me feel better. After everything that's happened, with everything to come - well, if it is all I can do then it's enough."

"You know we can't have more now, maybe not for years..." said Harry.

"So I'll wait," replied Ginny. "Now, let me get on with fixing up Gabrielle."

"Should you wake her? Madame Pomfrey said she should rest."

"When doesn't Pomfrey think that you should rest? Anyway, she isn't sleeping."

"What? She hasn't moved since I came in!" whispered Harry. "How can you tell?"

"Sleeping people don't blush. Don't worry Harry, she's fine. Just a bit embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? About what?"

"Nevermind. Oh, and since the ministry didn't send an owl before, can you give us a quick Finite Incantatum?"

"Caught that did you? Scrimgeour is still trying to look busy. All right then," said Harry as he pulled out his wand. "_Finite Incantatum_."

"Thanks. If Gabrielle is up for it, we'll see you downstairs for lunch," called Ginny as Harry backed out of the door. "Now then, Gabrielle, shall we get started?"

With a sigh, at last audible, Gabrielle opened her eyes and sat up.

"I am sorry," Gabrielle said. Ginny opened the larger tin on the bedside table and started rubbing Gabrielle's face with a thick concoction that alternately felt warm and cold on her skin.

"No need to be sorry. The second time I saw Harry was in that same kitchen, in my nightdress, and I turned and ran too. Although for me it was butter and not jam," replied Ginny. She started pulling sticky bandages from Gabrielle's ear. "I was so embarrassed by myself that I couldn't even speak around him for years, and he's my brother's best mate so Harry was around a lot."

"I wanted him to see ze new me. Not zee little girl."

"So - you're a Harry Potter fan then?"

"Yes. No. Eh.." Gabrielle knew what Ginny was asking. She had no dreams of romance, she was too young. She only started Beauxbatons in the fall! How could she make Ginny understand? "I wanted Harry to know zat his work at ze lake became somezing. Zat is all."

Ginny thought about that a bit. "You mean when Harry pulled you from the lake during the TriWizard tournament? But you knew you were in no danger." She began rubbing the green paste from the second tin on Gabrielle's swollen ear.

"Yes. But it did mean a lot to me. I was ze forgotten hostage, ze lost hostage. So zee stranger, one who did not love me, took up ze burden of me. As if zee stranger saw more to me zan ze ozzers, and I was worz zee saving," explained Gabrielle. "Have you felt zat way?"

Ginny stopped smearing paste on Gabrielle's ear. Her eyes seemed to lose focus when she replied. "Uh, yeah. I, um, have felt that way." Ginny turned back to the table.

"Can you tell me about it?" asked Gabrielle interestedly.

"Oh, it's a long story." Turning back to Gabrielle, Ginny asked, "Why was Fleur so upset with you?"

"Zat is not a long story. I made my face ugly when I fell and ruined Fleur's wedding. I said somezing mean about Bill, also," replied Gabrielle in a more dejected tone.

"Hmm. That would explain the silencing spell, and why you suddenly needed the Bruise-Be-Gone for both sides of your face."

"I did not mean it. I like Bill, very much," Gabrielle's frown deepened.

"Well, how about you wash that off and we'll see if we can make Fleur happy with your face again."

Gabrielle climbed out of the bed carefully, but did not feel any dizziness. She almost hoped that the unctions did not help as she would not mind not having to face Fleur all week.

"The last time I saw you and Fleur together was during the TriWizard tournament. You two seemed so attached to each other. That seems to have changed," called Ginny over the running water.

Gabrielle rubbed the last of the ointment from her ear and looked at herself in the mirror. Regardless of her previous thoughts, she was pleased to see her face looked the same as before. She used to wish she was prettier, but stopped when she realized that she couldn't really decide how much prettier she needed to be. If she couldn't know how far she was away from the goal, then it stood to reason that she couldn't know how close to the goal she was either. She might be very nearly as pretty as she needed to be! It seemed a waste of a wish to Gabrielle to want that bit more when she was counting on so many other wishes.

"When I was young, I wanted to be Fleur. I grew, and I knew I was not to be Fleur, zough she made to help. I do not have much Veela heritage. I am not a strong witch. I do not behave correctly," began Gabrielle. "Fleur zought I needed help wizz everyzing. I zought I needed to be someone else." Gabrielle came back into the room. Ginny was sitting on her own bed, brushing out her hair. Her long red shimmering hair. Another wish that Gabrielle had given up on was for her hair. The same fine, almost silvery hair that flowed around Fleur almost disappeared on Gabrielle, and she used to wish for it to be, well, something else. Then she realized she would be able to change it once she had a wand, or even the muggle way like the girls she saw near the music shops. The occasional blues and greens could not be natural! Once she was at school and out of Fleur's and Maman's sight she would try something.

"So she is disappointed that you won't be her twin?" asked Ginny.

"It was ze second task in zee TriWizard tournament. Fleur did not save me. After, she held me near. It was too much."

"I see. She was trying to protect you by smothering you. Fleur does come across as a little overbearing." Ginny went over to Gabrielle and took her face in her hands."It looks like you will be a bridesmaid after all. You didn't get any breakfast but lunch will be soon. Now, Fleur was muttering something about an outfit?"

The color drained from Gabrielle's face. How did Fleur find out about the outfit? She whirled around and ran to her trunk, opening it to fish around in a back corner. Gabrielle brought out the intricate green knife with all its folded parts.

"What's that?" asked Ginny, who was now quite curious about Gabrielle's behavior.

"My wand." Gabrielle pulled out the bit with the flat metal tab and jammed it into the bottom edge of the trunk. With a moment of prying the bottom pulled away from the side, revealing it to be a false bottom with another compartment hidden below. A compartment that appeared to be filled with dresses. "No!" cried Gabrielle, pulling up the bottom so that it jumbled the items in the top portion. She searched through the dresses at the bottom, and sagged down, head against the trunk. "No," she said again weakly. The outfit she had carefully assembled was no longer there. None of the clothes she had purchased with her allowance in muggle Paris were there. Only the high-waisted dresses that Fleur thought looked "right" on Gabrielle were packed. Rage boiled up, and Gabrielle turned to Ginny with a handful of dresses.

"(This is a perfect example of what I was telling you. Look what Fleur has decided will be the only things I wear.)" Gabrielle shook the dresses at Ginny, not realizing she was shouting in French. "(Look at this ridiculous bow and this huge collar. What girl ready to enter school is wearing stuff like this? I am not a young child and I do not want to dress like one! Fleur only sees me at the age I was during the second task. She refuses to see that I've grown and changed and that I can at least make my own decisions about clothes. All the muggle clothing that I bought because I liked it is gone. She has ruined everything for me! All because she can't believe I can think for myself! It is ridiculous!)" Gabrielle dropped the dresses and stomped back to the bed, past the stunned Ginny, and buried herself under the blankets. Fleur would have her laugh over Gabrielle's ruined plan, but she wouldn't see her cry, because Gabrielle would do that under the blankets.

"(Why is Fleur so mean?)" whispered Gabrielle under the sheets as her tears wet her sleeve. "(What did I do this time?)" Fleur, thought Gabrielle, was always very up-front about why she felt Gabrielle needed to be punished. But what was Fleur getting back at her for? Was it the 'Coffee Caper'? Maman had already meted out punishment for that when Fleur had informed her. Being grounded for two weeks and having her 'muggle junk' confiscated seemed more than harsh enough to Gabrielle.

After several minutes Gabrielle felt the bed move beside her. She had forgotten Ginny in her anguish, and was going to tell Ginny to go to lunch without her. She really didn't want to see anyone right now.

"Come on Gabrielle, come out and tell me what's wrong," said Ginny has she gently rubbed Gabrielle's back. She called to Gabrielle soothingly for several minutes. Gabrielle sighed, it seemed Ginny was not going to be put off. Gabrielle suspected that was from the way she had to deal with Harry. All that kissing in between talk of breaking up - Gabrielle wanted to know what that was about.

Emerging from beneath the blankets, Gabrielle sniffed and said, "She took my favorite clothes." Well, didn't that make her sound mature?

"Ah. You mean these adorable little dresses aren't what you want Harry to see you in?"

Gabrielle lifted her eyes to Ginny with a look of pure horror. Ginny could barely keep a straight face. "You did not mean it," said a relieved Gabrielle.

"What kind of clothes were you going to bring? If they annoy Fleur so much maybe I could wear something like them too," laughed Ginny.

"You wear zem now. Zee clothes I like are muggle. I had a pair of denims that fit well, a green blouse, and a, eh, (ivory chemise). It was not fancy. Only ze clothes, zey were correct for my age" moped Gabrielle. "I bought zem at a Paris market." Well, thought Gabrielle, at least in a year or two they would be correct.

"Huh. Well if you don't mind hand-me-downs, I'm sure we have some muggle style clothes that might fit you."

"You do?" Gabrielle brightened considerably. She wasn't sure what Ginny meant in the first part, but if Ginny had some muggle stuff she could wear, then maybe she could best Fleur yet.

Not more than thirty minutes later, Gabrielle was headed back to the kitchen with Ginny. She was feeling a lot more confident. The Weasley attic was full of normal clothes without bows, bib-like collars, and lace trimming. Ginny had found a pair of denims that fit her. Even though they were not as form-fitting as the pair she had bought for her outfit, they did show that she wasn't exactly a little girl. It was too bad there was a rip right across the left knee. Ginny had also found a green jumper that fit quite snugly, but in the end Gabrielle had chosen a "Weasley" jumper over it. While it was not as tight as the green one, and it wasn't like she had anything for the tightness to show, she just felt better somehow wearing it. It was an interesting jumper, too. The arms seemed to have been stretched out, or the torso was too short. Thus the arms were bunched up at the sleeve, but if Gabrielle lifted her arms the jumper rode up to show her belly button. It was the kind of thing she could envision the older girls of Paris wearing for flirting. "Be sure to tell Mum you like her handiwork," Ginny said. "A little gratitude from a Delacour will help her survive the wedding day," Ginny muttered to herself.

They entered the kitchen, Ginny calling out, "We're here Mum."

"Oh, Gabrielle dear, should you be up? Madame Pomfrey did want you to rest," said Mrs. Weasley as she backed into the eating area carrying a platter of meats and cheeses. "I could bring you up a... What are you wearing?" she said, staring at the transformed girl.

"Ginny said you made zis. Zis is true?" asked Gabrielle. She pirouetted once and said, "It is very nice zough it is old. Except for zis hole." Gabrielle twisted the jumper around her waist and poked a finger through what looked like a burn hole. "I like it very much."

Mrs. Weasley had a far-away look in her eyes, and didn't seem to know what to make of Gabrielle. Gabrielle pulled the front of the jumper tight across her chest and announced, "G is for Gabrielle, ne c'est pas?"

"What's this? Have I been replaced?" asked George. The twins sat across from Harry and Ron, entertaining themselves by flicking small balls of bread at the others. Ginny sat down next to Harry, but, Gabrielle noticed, they didn't greet each other with a kiss like Bill and Fleur.

"Wouldn't think so," said Fred. "Your model is a right classic."

"Still, wouldn't be a bad choice," considered George.

"Excellent potential for chaos, that one."

"Using up the Bruise-Be-Gone - just like old times."

"The Deranged Delacour. It's always the quiet ones."

"Shut it you two," warned Mrs. Weasley as she delivered the platter. "Don't embarrass her."

Gabrielle had turned at the sound of her name, still showing off her G. She gave those seated at the table a bright smile, "Bon Jour!". Ginny waved her over. Maybe it was her imagination, but one of the twins couldn't seem to look away. Did I really do that, Gabrielle wondered? She looked behind her for Fleur as she went over to the table. One of the twins immediately slid over, making room for her. Gabrielle gave him a small smile, and the tips of his ears reddened. Well, thought Gabrielle, I am not so hopeless after all.

"Are we recruiting here George?" asked Fred from the other side of Gabrielle.

"What? Er, no, just, you know, being polite," replied George.

"Polite? We know how to be polite?" puzzled Fred.

"I do. Or I did. At least I remember one time.."

"A long time ago.."

"When one of us had the smarts to be polite..."

"While the other..."

"Laughed too hard at Mrs. Whimpley's suddenly hairless cats."

"Ooh, I think that was me."

"Which - the polite one or the one who got the hairless hex?"

The table broke out in laughter, and Gabrielle politely joined in. It might have been funnier, but she had a hard time following the twins' English as they bounced back and forth in rapid conversation.

"So Gabrielle, it looks like Madame Pomfrey fixed you up. I'm sorry about running into you." This was from Harry.

"It was my fault. I am sorry also. Madame Pomfrey is very good," said Gabrielle quickly, a bit nervously.

"Harry is a big fan of Madame Pomfrey's. Spends at least a week in the hospital wing each term," said Ginny.

"Is it from ze fighting?" asked Gabrielle in a near whisper.

"Nah. Mostly it is quidditch injuries or professors trying to off him," laughed George.

"Professors? What?" Gabrielle didn't know this, and she noticed Harry didn't seem to like the topic either.

"Sure. One year a professor removed the bones from his arm," said Fred. Gabrielle wondered if they always took turns speaking. She did not know any other twins to compare with.

"There's a pleasant topic for lunch - Skele-Gro," moaned Harry, who then laughed.

"Skele-Gro? How can you laugh? It is horrible stuff!" exclaimed Gabrielle.

The twins looked at each other across Gabrielle. "Excellent potential!" they said in unison.

"Did you need Skele-Gro Gabrielle?" asked Ginny.

"Eh... yes."

"Well, give us a story then!" said Ron, already on his second sandwich.

"Yeah. Why did you need it?" prompted Harry. Gabrielle looked down at her plate. Did they really expect her to divulge an incident on 'The List'? But then, they did not know of 'The List' and she had sort of brought it up. Maybe they would think it was funny, or maybe they would think she was a silly little girl.

"Someone give her a poke - I think she fell asleep," called Ron.

"Shut up Ron. It's okay if you don't want to tell us Gabrielle," said Harry. After the first two bites of his sandwich, he seemed to think something was missing, or there was too much of something, and he began disassembling his food.

"Harry, that's gross," informed Ginny. "At least use a fork to pick up the meat. Come on, Gabrielle. Tell us about the Skele-Gro."

Gabrielle was undecided. This was a way for Ginny to invite her into the conversation, but what if they ended up thinking she was ridiculous? But then again, Harry was now sniffing each slice of cheese suspiciously and it was not considered a gaffe by the others. She sighed, and started. "I was seven years of age. My family was travelling by Floo to Chamoix to visit. Fleur always went before me. She said I was too slow. No one saw, and I took anozzer handful of Floo powder. I tried to pass Fleur by using the ozzer handful in ze middle."

"Oh no!" gasped Ginny.

"I take it that it didn't work?" asked Harry, dangling a slice of cheese precariously.

"I did go faster, yes. But not to Chamoix. I went very rapid into the wall of Madame Chouisse. My arms were so broken ze healers took ze bones out." The distance from the Chouisse's hearth to the wall at been at least twenty feet, which she had covered in the blink of an eye.

Harry let out a low whistle. "So you had both arms regrown? I remember how much one arm hurt."

"Lucky you ended up somewhere with someone you knew," noted Ginny.

"Eh... I did not know Madame Chouisse. I was not awake when she took me to hospital. Zee witches at the ward knew of me."

"Did they?" snickered Fred. "And that would be because..."

"I was zere ze week before for my leg," Gabrielle blushed. It had been a rough couple of months in her life. Painfully embarrassing, and painful in general.

"Still, fun while it lasted, eh?" nudged George. The twins grinned at each other across her.

"I did go very rapid," admitted Gabrielle with almost a smile. Instinctively she ducked her head and looked for Fleur to remind her that it had been a bad thing.

"The Blond Bludger!" laughed George.

"You must have been in a world of hernnnk," started Ron, just as he transformed into a pink flamingo.

"We've been working on variants of the Canary Cremes!" announced George.

"It'll be Flamingo Floss, or Flamingo Fudge, or OY!" exclaimed Fred as Ron, using his new long neck, reached across the table to peck him.

Gabrielle looked around the table. Fred and George clearly enjoyed Ron's new form, while Ginny and Harry looked somewhat annoyed. Ron kept looking at her and the twins with first one eye, then the other, clicking his beak threateningly. Left eye, then the right eye, then left again, and snapping beak. Gabrielle couldn't take it any longer, and burst out laughing.

With a shower of pink feathers, Ron returned to normal. "Why is it always me you pick on?" he crabbed.

"Well, not our fault you ate the most first, is it?" asked Fred. "And Harry picked out all the cheese." Gabrielle had just swallowed another bite of her cheese sandwich, somewhat dismayed by that bit of news. The cheese didn't taste weird, though. Gabrielle thought it would be rude to stop eating it, especially with Mrs. Weasley eyeing her.

"Yeah Harry, what gave it away?" wondered George.

"Dumbledore said... he told me that magic always leaves traces," replied Harry. "I guess I've just been noticing them more." The mention of Dumbledore brought a somber mood to the table, until Gabrielle abruptly turned into a flamingo.

After lunch, the twins left for their shop. Alastor Moody arrived, and promptly disappeared upstairs with Harry and Ron. Ginny and Gabrielle helped Mrs. Weasly clean up.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was once more in bed in Ginny's bedroom, this time sitting sullenly instead of lying dazedly. The lunch had been fun. Harry had not treated her as a child. Gabrielle was pretty sure Ginny had said something to Harry, as he had been very nice and solicitous. She just wished he had better table manners. Fred and George had teased her, but not in a mean sort of way. She was pretty sure she could tell them apart now and idly wondered what would have happened had she worn an F.

The conversation around the table ended when Alastor Moody arrived. Gabrielle recognized him from her short stay at Hogwarts, and found him to be as creepy as ever. He, Harry, and Ron had retreated to Harry's room without explanation. The twins took that opportunity to return to their shop. That left Ginny and Gabrielle to help Mrs. Weasley clean up.

It was during the cleanup, when Mrs. Weasley was out of earshot, that Gabrielle, trying to reconcile the morning kissing with the lunchtime indifference, blurted, "Why does not Harry want to be your boyfriend?" Ginny had glared at her, told her that Harry was too busy for a girlfriend right now, and then commented how peaked Gabrielle looked when Mrs. Weasley returned.

No amount of declaring that she was fine could prevent the Weasley matriarch from fulfilling Madame Pomfrey's instructions. No amount of whining and begging could get Gabrielle a reduced sentence. She was stuck upstairs, alone, "resting" until dinner was ready. Mrs. Weasley had even taken the borrowed denims, promising to fix the rip and launder them. Gabrielle wondered if she took them so that an escape would be impossible. At least an escape in decent looking clothes.

"(Maybe Fleur is right,)" Gabrielle spoke to the empty room, "(maybe I am lacking in manners.)" She supposed it had been a rather rude question. Ginny had been so nice in the morning that Gabrielle had hoped she had a new friend. It was possible, Gabrielle thought, that Ginny was just being polite and a good host. It was possible that it was completely presumptuous to try and talk about boyfriends with Ginny. Still, Gabrielle bristled to herself, even if it was rude there was no reason for turning Mrs. Weasley on her like that. Ginny could have just told her it was none of her concern and that she didn't want to talk about it. At least Ginny had not launched into a tirade like Fleur would have.

An hour later, Gabrielle was bored. Almost bored to the point of desperation. She considered trying to sneak up to the attic to look for more clothes, but it seemed like Mrs. Weasley walked past the room if she even thought about actually doing it. Besides that, there was a ghoul in the attic. Ginny had greeted it like an old friend. Still, Gabrielle had noted that she kept her wand ready the whole time they were up there.

Gabrielle wondered if the room would be more interesting upside down. With her legs going up the wall and her head hanging over the edge of the bed she found that it was not more interesting. She did find that her jumbled trunk looked messier inverted. It looked a lot messier than her Maman would allow, and out of habit Gabrielle rolled out of bed to straighten it.

Pulling the tangle of Fleur's favorite dresses from what should have been her secret compartment, Gabrielle could feel the morning's anger coming back. It still annoyed Gabrielle to no end that Fleur had discovered the false bottom. When she dragged the last dress out, the one with the large flowers sewn on the front, there was a rattling noise. With a gasp of surprise, Gabrielle reached for the decorated white tin box. Fleur must not have seen this, Gabrielle thought, or surely she would have taken it out. She searched the dark corner of the compartment and pulled out the muggle coffee press she had received, and the brown leather-covered book from her Grandmere.

She went back to the bed, opened the tin a crack, and sniffed deeply. The delicious odor of Gaston's best blend of coffee took her back to the 'Coffee Caper'.


	2. The Coffee Caper

Chapter Two - The Coffee Caper

They were in muggle Paris, and Fleur was hunting for something to wear at some muggle function with Bill. Gabrielle didn't much care about the shopping; she just loved the bustle of the city.

Fleur pushed open the door to yet another dress shop on what seemed like a street of dress shops. Gabrielle was beginning to hate the little tinkle of the bell over the doors, since it signalled the beginning of another campaign of attrition by Fleur. She would try on absolutely everything in the shop that fit her, sorting it into piles. She would grind down the staff with dismissive comments about their stock. Then each item in one of the piles would be tried on again and sorted into new piles, while the other piles were restocked by the harried store clerks. This was repeated over and over, until Fleur held one dress or blouse or whatever. She would look at it critically and then declare, "(There is nothing here I would buy.)"

The worst part usually came after the second sorting, when the store's sales staff would begin to glare at Gabrielle simply because she had come in with Fleur. She would shrink to a corner or behind a large display and try to become invisible. It had yet to work. A year ago Gabrielle would have been in the changing area with Fleur offering her opinion on how the ensembles looked when Fleur would ask. That was until the day Gabrielle, hungry before lunch, suggested that the eggplant-colored skirt would go with the tomato-colored blouse and pale yellow scarf. Since then she had been banished for "(appalling fashion sense)". Today that would work to her favor.

Gabrielle had noticed the scent at once when she and Fleur began working their way from boutique to boutique. She smelled coffee, and it filled the air with a heady perfume. The source of the aroma was not obvious but Gabrielle was pretty sure they were headed in the right direction. She stopped and, nose up, sniffed several times.

"(What is wrong with you?)" asked Fleur. She was sizing up the next potential victim shop.

"(Can you smell it?)" asked Gabrielle in reply, her eyes half-closed.

Fleur sniffed and frowned, "(Yes. Is it fish?)" She pushed open the door and, the little bell tinkling its warning, went inside.

Gabrielle stood open-mouthed. She thought, fish? Fleur thinks the most delicious coffee I have ever smelled is... fish?

But now, four ransacked shops later, Gabrielle could see the small coffeehouse. It was a couple doors further along and across the street. It would take no time to get there and buy a cup. She wouldn't need to beg Fleur into making a stop; Fleur would never need to know. So when Fleur had gathered her collection of, in this case, slacks and tops to begin her ritual torture, and had stepped into the changing area, Gabrielle waited a few minutes and then slipped out of the shop.

Gabrielle hurried to the coffeehouse as quickly as she could in case there was a line. It was soon very apparent, though, that there was not going to be a line. In fact, she was somewhat concerned that the shop was closed - no patrons were sipping lattes outdoors at the black metal tables, and the windows were too dark to see any customers inside. As she was about to push the door open it occurred to her that this could be a wizard-owned shop. Except that Fleur had said that there were no such shops on this street, and wizard coffee smelled nothing like the rich odor she could practically drink.

There were two brands of wizarding coffee. One came with a set of powders that could make it taste like almost anything. The other didn't. Neither were better than the muggle, in-an-instant coffee she had once at Philippe's house. And wizard coffee could hardly be called coffee compared to the freshly ground, dark-roasted espresso she had at one of Papa's muggle functions.

Gabrielle pushed open the door. No tinkling of a bell announced her presence. She could see why the place was so empty: the mismatched tables and chairs were haphazardly scattered and there was refuse on a couple of them. It looked nothing like the stylish coffeehouse she had dragged Fleur into last shopping trip. That shop had been decorated in black marble with chromed tables, and had been packed with university students. The four patrons here were old men - they looked as old as her Grandpere. The other coffeehouse had been noisy, busy, and smelled of pastries. Here there was only a low conversation over a chess game and the rich smell of coffee.

Gabrielle stepped up to the tiny counter near the back, just past the old men on her left. There was no one behind the counter and no one else moved. She stood there for a minute, then looked about for a bell. There did not seem to be a way to summon anyone. Steeling herself and using her best smile, she started, "(Excuse me, sirs, but...)"

"(Gaston, you big idiot! You have a customer!)" bellowed a thin frail man who looked like he would hardly have been able to speak. Gabrielle jumped back with a squeak.

"(I can see that you da... old foghorn, you!)" snapped a heavy-set man who emerged from the back rooms. He wore a white apron over his clothes, and was as old as the others. He turned to Gabrielle, "(What do you want, eh?)"

"(Please, sir, I... I want some, um, coffee, please,)" stammered Gabrielle. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to be here without Fleur. She did not know these men and no one knew where she was.

"(What kind?)" he demanded, arms crossed.

"(Just an espresso?)" Gabrielle tried to put a smile on her face. Fleur always said a nice smile could derail any man.

"(We only serve pressed coffee here.)" He gestured abruptly to the dusty chalkboard on the right making Gabrielle jump. "(I meant what blend.)"

Gabrielle turned to the board. There were at least ten varieties. She turned back to the man, smile in place, and asked, "(Which is the one I can smell from all the way down the boulevard?)"

"(That would be Gaston's laundry. Ha!)" croaked a shrivelled figure in a beret. He began coughing violently.

"(What'll be funny is seeing you kill yourself with your own joke,)" Gaston said severely, even as he placed a glass of water in front of the man. He came back to Gabrielle. "(That is the Allied's Victory blend that just finished roasting.)"

"(May I have a cup?)"

"(Do you have any money little girl?)"

"(Yes.)" Gabrielle kept smiling, even though she was bristling at being called a little girl. But then, she realized, he was so old that even Fleur would look like a child to him. Gaston moved to the prep area so Gabrielle took a seat next to the chalkboard and tried to be invisible again.

Gaston loaded a glass cylinder with with coffee, placed it under the a tap, and pushed a button. A measured amount of near-boiling water filled the glass beaker. Gabrielle loved the buttons on muggle machines. Philippe's house has many such machines, and Gabrielle could work them as well as the next person even if she did not have a wand yet. There was no arguing with the toaster or coffeepot to get it to do its job, and no begging an older sister for help. Just push the button. Philippe had said, "(The power is in the device, not the person. Wizards, the power is only in the person.)" The wizards who thought that muggles had to work too hard to do things must have forgot what it was like to growing up in a wizarding house without a wand.

Philippe was the ward of family friends, and a squib. His birth parents had practically abandoned him. But Philippe was lucky, and had been given a good home by a squib couple whose own children had grown and entered the wizarding world. Philippe knew he was lucky too, which took the flame from the dragon in his rants and tantrums. That, in turn, made his guardians far more tolerant of his excesses. Philippe was determined to show he could be as good as a wizard, and he had learned a lot of tricks that to Gabrielle let him seem to do the impossible. Gabrielle smiled as she remembered Madame Toulier telling her that Philippe was very loud, but really very sweet to her and her husband.

Gaston brought the cylinder, a cup, and a small clock over. "(When this goes ding, press the handle down slowly, and pour,)" he instructed before returning to the back.

Gabrielle stared at the clock intently. It was a little embarrassing, but her mouth was starting to water in anticipation. One minute left, only thirty seconds...

"(You should get a croissant too. You are too thin,)" blasted the man Gaston had called a foghorn. Gabrielle actually fell from her chair. She righted herself and rubbed her elbow. The man with the beret was coughing again. She wondered if she should point out how rude that had been. Before she could muster the courage, the small clock made a clinking sound. It wasn't quite a ding, but the little hand had wound its way to zero so she pressed the handle down as instructed, and poured.

v - v - v - v - v

The first sip made the dirty tables and strange old men fade as the rich flavor and aroma became her focus. A second slurping sip overwhelmed her senses and the mundane world of the coffeehouse was gone. She imagined herself in an exotic world of warm moist jungle shaded by strange trees, which swirled with visions of cool mountainsides with a hot sun overhead, all mixed in with views of a tropical ocean. The scenes seem so real, she thought, but I don't recognize them. It was mesmerizing - she could imagine the wind in the jungle trees becoming the sound of the distant surf as one image after another floated by. The view from the mountain looked out over a vast plain; she thought she could see a herd of animals before the green of the jungle returned.

Soon enough her senses adjusted to the hot brown liquid and the real world came back to the fore. She was surprised to find that the cup still held to her lips was half empty.

"(Are you all right?)" asked Gaston with concern. Gabrielle noted with a start that everyone was looking at her rather intently.

"(Yes. Yes, I am fine. It's, ah, really good, the coffee. It's actually quite fantastic! I have never tasted anything with such power,)" gushed Gabrielle. She took another slurping sip, then realized how loud it had been and felt her face heat up.

"(It's just when I brought the croissant you were, eh, not all here.)" Gaston pulled a chair over and sat across from Gabrielle. "(Has that ever happened before? Are you here with someone who can help you, or is there someone I can call?)"

"(Really, sir, I am fine, and my sister is shopping across the street. It's just that I've been dreaming of this coffee all day long and now that I have it, well, it just overwhelmed me a bit. It is, you know, absolutely delicious!)"

"(My name is Gaston. Perhaps you should drink it a little more slowly?)"

"(I am pleased to meet you. I am Gabrielle Delacour. But I did not order a croissant - the, um, foghorn wanted me to,)" Gabrielle reddened again when she said this.

"(The colonel was worried for you too, Gabrielle. It is unusual for a person to ignore, ah, his call. Now, eat.)" Gaston stood to leave, "(I have to tend the roaster soon.)"

"(Can I see it?)" blurted Gabrielle. The machine that makes coffee like this must be amazing. She stood and smiled hopefully. Then to make her case stronger, she snatched up the croissant and took a bite.

Gaston laughed, "(It's not much to see. Come.)" He led the way past the counter and through the door to the back room. Gabrielle followed Gaston, carefully carrying her cup of coffee and nibbling the unwanted croissant even though it was somewhat stale.

Just inside the door was the area where the cups were washed and stacked, and the coffee presses were lined up in uneven rows. Beyond these was a gray metal table on which sat two machines. One was round, red, and as large as a dragon's nest. The other was more of a rectangle, almost the size of her new school trunk, and also red. Both had gleaming metal... things on them, plus numerous buttons and levers. Behind these on shelves lining the walls were dozens of large burlap sacks.

"(This is the roaster,)" Gaston indicated the round machine, "(and this is the grinder. See, nothing special.)" He swung open a small hatch on top of the roaster, and slid a box over in front of it. "(Take a look, but watch yourself. It is hot.)"

Gabrielle stepped up and peered inside. A different heavenly scent than what had attracted her earlier rose from the dark beans inside. The smell and the swirling motion was beautiful, entrancing. She leaned closer until she felt a hand grab the back of her collar.

"(I think you should sit now. We are not roasting children today.)"

"(The smell is different than before. How do you get the different flavors into the coffee?)" asked Gabrielle as she settled on the low box. It was an awkward position, especially in a dress, but at least she could finish her coffee.

"(Roasting only releases the flavors. The magic is in the beans, not the machine,)" replied Gaston. Gabrielle looked up sharply at the word magic. "(I use high quality beans from all over the world, from Ethiopia, Guatemala, Indonesia, and even America. The right beans in the right mix and the right roast is all it takes,)" explained Gaston. He told Gabrielle about what made the beans special, and cut open one of the burlap sacks to show the tan unroasted beans.

"(What is that?)" asked Gabrielle pointing to the green and silver knife contraption Gaston had used on the bag.

"(Ah, the American supplier sent them as a special promotion.)" Gaston showed her the different blades and how it could unfold into pliers. Gabrielle found it amazing.

"(Your coffee is the best. Why aren't there more customers?)" demanded Gabrielle. She would definitely make sure everyone knew about this coffeehouse.

"(Not that you are unwelcome, but the shop is not actually open anymore. Hasn't been for almost a year,)" said Gaston.

"(What? This is horrible news!)" gasped Gabrielle.

Gaston shook his head, "(I am tired. I am old and tired.)" He told her how he had had a coffeehouse since soon after the end of the war. He told her about the partners he had outlived, and about the lean years and good years. Gabrielle asked about his family, and was mortified when Gaston told her he had lost them in the war. Then he told her about the dreams where his wife beckoned him, saying that they would meet again soon.

"(You shouldn't think of such things,)" sniffed Gabrielle tearfully.

"(Why not? I love my wife still. To see her and my babies again is a happy dream.)" Gaston told her that it was not long after that a real estate speculator came in with the crazy reverse mortgage scheme. "(Now I open up only for my comrades from the Resistance, and roast only for friends. And wait for my love.)

"(But I don't mean to make you cry,)" said Gaston more cheerfully. "(Let me give you some things to cheer you up.)"

"(No, that's okay,)" said Gabrielle wiping her eyes. "(I should not have come in when you were not open.)"

"(Nonsense. Pretty little girls need presents.)"

I am not so little, thought Gabrielle, but at least he didn't call me silly.

She didn't argue too much, though, when Gaston's rummaging turned up another of the green knife contraptions, and she smiled broadly when he gave her the painted metal box full of the Allied's Victory blend. She did try to say it was too much when he pushed a coffeepress into her arms on their way back to the front.

"(We covered for you as much as we could Gaston,)" rasped the man with the beret. "(But you should leave town for a few days.)" He laughed.

"(Eh? What nonsense is this?)" asked Gaston.

"(The police came. They were looking for her.)"

Why would the muggle police, thought Gabrielle, be looking for me? Her eyes widened in horror: Fleur.

"(Oh no! I completely forgot the time! My sister must have noticed I was gone,)" exclaimed Gabrielle. "(Thank you for everything, but I had better get back!)" Her hands were now full, so she did a sort of curtsey. "(May I come back and visit, maybe, if I am near?")

"(Why not?)" smiled Gaston.

"(Certainly improves the scenery,)" boomed the colonel.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle shook her head to bring herself out of the memory. That was all she liked to remember. Fleur had been livid over losing the rest of the shopping day, and apparated Gabrielle home as soon as possible. Fleur had not been happy to come home empty-handed, when Gabrielle had not. Maman had not been happy to find Fleur on the warpath again. Gabrielle had not been happy to see her Aunt Laurel, who still thought Gabrielle might be a squib even though Beauxbatons had sent a letter, and her Grandmere, who seemed to think sometimes that Gabrielle was part troll. Both doted on Fleur and took her side in the ensuing tribunal. Three against one meant that Gabrielle did not get away with just promising to not do it again.

Gabrielle rattled the box. Not much left, she thought. And no way to get more. Maybe if Papa can take a long lunch from the Ministry, she mused, I could buy him lunch at a bistro near there. It would take a month at least to save enough money though.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley called, "Gabrielle, dear, may I come in?"

Gabrielle quickly sat up on the bed, and opened the brown leather book to somewhere in the middle. She intended on looking as well rested as possible, her only hope for escape. "(Yes, come in.) Eh, yes, come in." She looked down at the book in her hands which had opened to a series of diagrams. "Oh!" Her eyes flew open wide once her mind worked out what it was seeing. Mrs. Weasley opened the door, and Gabrielle snapped the book shut and tried to casually bury it in the sheets.

"Are you all right? Your face is all flushed," asked Mrs. Weasley.

"I am fine," Gabrielle replied. Just a bit shocked, she thought.

"Hmm... I brought you the denims, all patched up. And I found a few more things that might fit. Fleur insisted that you had all the clothes you needed, but I told her it was no bother," Mrs. Weasley smiled slyly.

Gabrielle smiled back. She couldn't be mad at Mrs. Weasley, even though Mrs. Weasley was her jailer, because she did so much for everyone. "Zank you very much, Mrs. Weasley."

"Your welcome dear. Oh, did you go to Egypt too?"

"What do you mean? Egypt?" asked Gabrielle in surprise.

Mrs. Weasley pointed to the coffeepress. "Bill used one of those when he was curse-breaking in Egypt. He was mad for the local coffee there, but won't touch the stuff here. Bill claims the muggle coffee in Egypt is a hundred times better, but it always smelled like fish to me."

"Fish?" wondered Gabrielle. Is this a joke?

"Odd really. Oh, by the way, your mother sent an owl. She is planning an international fire-call tonight to check on you. You may want to, er, dress as she expects."

"Oh, good. Eh, I am well. I can go down now?" asked Gabrielle.

"No, dear or Poppy, I mean, Madame Pomfrey will have my head. Dinner will be in a couple of hours or so."

Gabrielle threw herself back on to her pillow theatrically as Mrs. Weasley closed the door again. The effect was marred by the fact that her head grazed the wall on the way down, which hurt. She sat up to rub her head, then scooted over to the pile of clothes on the bed.

Gabrielle went through the pile and found the denims. They were not patched - Mrs. Weasley must have used a spell to grow the rip on the knee back together. The cloth was almost like new. Since she couldn't afford much with her allowance beyond second-hand muggle clothing, Gabrielle decided she would try to learn that spell as soon as she could. Once she had a wand, of course.

Satisfied that she would at least have nice clothes for tomorrow, Gabrielle tried to decide what to wear when Maman called. She sometimes picked out the most ridiculous dresses Fleur liked hoping that Maman would notice how awful they were, but Maman had never said anything yet. Gabrielle was never sure whether she should keep trying that tactic, since it might be misinterpreted as actually liking Fleur's horrors. Gabrielle did not think her other campaign of choosing her muggle clothing whenever asked to dress 'nicely' or 'well' was working either. While that always annoyed Fleur, it was becoming quite obvious that Maman was tired of the 'joke' too. If only I had more allowance and time for the markets in Paris, Gabrielle thought, I know I could find the right dress.

Gabrielle looked at the clothes Mrs. Weasley had picked out. There were so many garish patterns and loud colors. She was sure Ginny bought most of her clothing herself, as she never saw the older girl wearing anything like these. Mothers must just lose track of fashion. She picked out the gold and crimson striped hose, and eyed them critically. They showed no signs of wear at the toes or heels, confirming for Gabrielle that Ginny had rejected them. These would be good for annoying Fleur, Gabrielle thought, but didn't fit the 'new Gabrielle' at all. Oh, of course, that's what made Mrs. Weasley smile, Gabrielle realized. These clothes are specifically chosen to provoke Fleur.

Gabrielle made her decision. She knew Fleur was giving Mrs. Weasley a hard time, even though Fleur had insisted that Mrs. Weasley be in charge of all the wedding preparations. Mrs. Weasley thus had no time for herself, but still had offered to fix the denims. Plus, Mrs. Weasley had not punished her for running on the stairs or getting blood on the carpet. So if she wants me to annoy Fleur, thought Gabrielle, then that's what I'll do. It would not be the first time she had walked around in a ridiculous outfit. The strange looks and snickers she sometimes garnered only proved to her that she was right about the dresses. Gabrielle pulled on the hose and stretched out her legs. She laughed. They were absolutely silly. The flowered nightmare, decided Gabrielle, will clash hideously with these.

Once she stopped giggling at her reflection in Ginny's mirror, Gabrielle dug out the book from the covers again. She flipped it open to the middle, and paged through it a bit. That was enough to confirm Gabrielle's first thought: her Grandmere had lost her senses. When she had slipped the thin book to Gabrielle at the farewell dinner, before Gabrielle and Fleur left for Britain, her Grandmere had called it a 'book of helpful hints' to release Gabrielle's Veela heritage. Gabrielle had been glad her Grandmere had not made a scene with the book. It was embarrassing, and Gabrielle had hidden it away from Fleur without examining it. Gabrielle had expected the usual reminders of proper manners and behavior or, even worse, reminders of proper medieval manners and centuries-old behavior. What Gabrielle found when she finally looked at the book practically in front of Mrs. Weasley was a detailed guide in... in... in, well, completely inappropriate behavior. With drawings, no less! Thankfully the book was old enough to lack animated pictures. Gabrielle had no idea what her Grandmere had been thinking. She did not look her age at all, of course, but she was pretty old. Perhaps she failed to notice giving Gabrielle the wrong book. Perhaps, Gabrielle thought, it was intended for Fleur. The book certainly seemed more useful to someone about to wed than someone going off to a school in the fall with separate classes for boys and girls.

Gabrielle considered what to do with the book. Maman, she was sure, would be very upset that Gabrielle had the book, and Papa would be doubly so. When Maman found out that her own mother had given Gabrielle the book she would be quite angry at Grandmere. That would give Gabrielle some respite from her Grandmere's harping on her looks and behavior, but Gabrielle decided that she would miss her Grandmere more than the slights were worth. It was Aunt Laurel she would not mind having a break from.

Fingering the worn, tooled cover, Gabrielle realized that she really should not have this book, and she wouldn't have it long if Fleur or Mrs. Weasley spotted it. Therefore, Gabrielle concluded, she had better read it now because who knew if she would get another chance. She propped her pillow against the wall and started at the beginning.

v - v - v - v - v

Reading the book was more of a problem than expected. It was written in French, but it was Old French, when spelling and grammar were more haphazard. Also, words she didn't recognize or didn't exist anymore were mixed in with Latin phrases. Gabrielle thought she got the gist of most of it.

The book, Gabrielle deduced, was really in three parts. The first part basically covered how to attract a warrior to your side. It was actually pretty tame compared to the flirting tips in the muggle women's magazines she read while Fleur tried on clothes. The second part covered what to do with the warrior once you got one. Getting a warrior was now something that Gabrielle intended to avoid as long as possible. She had not needed to work out the text for this part of the book. The drawings were extensive, detailed, and, Gabrielle thought, highly unlikely. She cringed recalling the 'fourth devotion'. That could just not be possible. She wished she could ask Fleur about it, or even her Maman, but then that would lead them to knowing she had looked at the book.

The third section covered sending the warrior into battle. There were a number of rituals to protect the warrior, to motivate the warrior, and to add to his fighting prowess. There was even a ritual to bring about a warrior's defeat. Gabrielle supposed this was for when you wanted a new warrior, or perhaps if you wanted to stop the 'devotions'.

Even though the third part was describing a kind of ritual magic that could make a warrior supposedly invincible in battle, a magic that Gabrielle could potentially do, she found it far more believable than the second section. She would love to use the defeat curse on the toaster back home - it still burned her toast occasionally, even after she had chipped a bit off of it as a warning using the knife from Gaston. Unfortunately, the rituals in the book all took a lot of time, a lot of candles, and not a lot of clothes. There was also a lot of mention of the 'blood sacrifice'. That wasn't too appealing. Gabrielle couldn't imagine her Maman's reaction if she caught Gabrielle surrounded by candles marking out a pentagram, writhing naked on top of the toaster, chanting in Latin and waving a dead rat. Gabrielle giggled at the image - Fleur would literally explode, and if she were standing next to Aunt Laurel...

There was a light tap on the door. "Gabrielle, is it okay for me to come in?" It was Ginny. Gabrielle did not want to talk to her at the moment as she was still annoyed at her exile. There was the possibility, though, that Ginny was coming to free her. It was also Ginny's room; she could hardly be kept out of it.

"Come in," Gabrielle replied as coldly as she could. She tucked the book out of sight.

"Hullo Gabrielle. Mum says you should come down now, dinner is almost ready."

"Humph!" replied Gabrielle. She turned away to fish her shoes from under the bed. As Gabrielle made to leave she glanced at Ginny. The older girl had curled up in a ball on her bed and covered her head with the pillow. Gabrielle stood stunned. Something bad has happened for certain, Gabrielle thought, and I'll bet Fleur was involved.

Forgetting to be angry at Ginny, Gabrielle asked, "Are you okay, Ginny?"

"I'm fine," Ginny answered, sobbing out the last part.

That, Gabrielle thought, would convince no one. She wondered what she should do. Gabrielle certainly had been the target of Fleur's temper enough to be able to commiserate, but Ginny had dismissed her earlier when Gabrielle had wanted to talk. Still, she couldn't leave Ginny like that without trying to help.

Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. What could she really say? She didn't didn't know what had happened. In fact, she couldn't imagine what could reduce Ginny to the ball of misery currently on the bed. Ginny was always in control of the situation. She ordered her brothers around, and even the twins ended up doing what they were told. Mrs. Weasley always used Ginny to deliver bad news about the wedding. Even Fleur could not intimidate Ginny... oh. Of course, realized Gabrielle, it wasn't Fleur, it was Harry. Gabrielle felt completely useless now. She didn't have a boyfriend, and Aunt Laurel's teasing about Philippe meant nothing.

In the end, Gabrielle decided to do the same as Ginny had done earlier. She sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed Ginny's back, and called to her over and over again quietly. Gabrielle wasn't sure this would help Ginny, but she felt better just trying to help. Gabrielle even sang the lullaby that her Maman would always sing. Eventually, Gabrielle's effort was rewarded. Ginny let out a big sigh and pulled the pillow from her head.

"Thanks, Gabrielle. I'm feeling a bit better now," said the older girl.

"It was Harry?" Gabrielle asked. She hoped Ginny wouldn't be mad at her for asking, and winced mentally at blurting out the first thing she thought. Again.

Ginny's face crumpled and new tears fell. "Yes. Oh Gabrielle, I pushed him too far and he pushed me away!" she wailed.

"You pushed him?"

"He's going to leave. He's going to leave and I wanted to go with him."

"He would come back to you. He really likes you, I zink."

"No he won't. He's going after Voldemort! Voldemort, do you understand? Harry is going after him and he won't be coming back!" Gabrielle, flinching, was shocked into silence, mouth agape. "If I don't go with him now I may never get another chance. I want to help him. I need to help him."

Gabrielle had read about Harry and You-Know-Who, about Harry supposedly being the Chosen One. She had thought it all just a ploy of the newspapers to get more subscribers at Harry's expense, like during the Tri-Wizard tournament. She was surprised that he might believe it. Also, she hoped the schoolgirl rumor that if you said You-Know-Who's true name three times would make him appear was silly superstition, as Ginny had now said his name twice.

"He can not. He can not fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named alone," Gabrielle declared. It seemed crazy. The fear alone of the dark wizard led to the travel restrictions from Britain to mainland Europe that were currently in place, which is why the wedding was here and not at Delacour Manor.

"No, not alone. He'll take Ron and he'll take Hermione, but he won't take me." Ginny looked to be done with tears and was becoming angry. "I should be able to help him."

Just then they heard Mrs. Weasley call them. Ginny deflated a bit, "You go down. I'll... just rest up here."

"I will bring you up somezing," announced Gabrielle. "Eh, if zat is okay?"

"I'm sure Mum will see to it." Ginny sank back on the bed. She curled up again, but didn't pull the pillow over her head. "Can you tell them I have a headache?"

Gabrielle looked at Ginny. Her hair and face were a mess and she seemed very sad, but she wasn't crying anymore. "I will tell zem," Gabrielle assured her.

v - v - v - v - v

Dinner had already begun when Gabrielle entered the kitchen. The table was full again. Bill and Fleur were next to each other, with Fleur nuzzling Bill while whispering into his ear. George and Fred were across from them. Ron was again overloading his mouth. Harry, sitting next to him and Fred, was just poking his food around the plate. I wonder, thought Gabrielle, if the twins have done something to the dinner?

Next to Ron was the woman called Tonks. She wore her hair in pink spikes, which Gabrielle thought was very cool. Beside Tonks sat a tall, bald black man she had only heard referred to as Shack. Gabrielle hadn't met him formally, but she felt that with his cool demeanor and formidable presence he deserved a more regal name. Not that she had worked up the nerve to speak to him. The creepy Alastor Moody sat next to Shack, only his magical eye looking up every now and then.

There was a seat open next to Fleur, one open next to Mr. Weasley, and another open next to George. It was obvious that she was supposed the sit next to Fleur. The seat next to Mr. Weasley was for his wife, and no Weasley besides Bill ever sat next to Fleur by choice. Ginny wouldn't be coming down, though. Gabrielle decided to sit between the twins again, and just for fun tapped George on the shoulder and demanded imperiously, "Oy! Birge up!"

George looked at her blankly, then at Fred. Fred said, "I'm not the one for languages. Try speaking slowly and loudly to her."

Gabrielle decided that it hadn't sounded right, and tried again tentatively, "Booj up?"

"(Tell me, has the circus come to town? Why are you dressed as a clown?)" Fleur scolded after noticing Gabrielle.

"(It is a hideous dress, isn't it? I found it in my trunk. I don't know who packed it,)" Gabrielle replied. "Boodge up?" The twins were making faces and gesturing at her now trying to show they didn't understand. It was difficult to not laugh.

"(You look like a diseased chicken with those striped socks. It is embarrassing our family,)" declared Fleur.

"(Think of them as stems for the ridiculous flowers stuck on the front of this horrid rag,)" snapped Gabrielle.

"I think 'budge' is the word you're looking for, dear," whispered Mrs. Weasley as she went past. She glanced at Gabrielle's legs, then at Fleur, and smiled.

"Oy! Budge up!" Gabrielle exclaimed. She knew it was something like that. Fred jumped to his feet, grabbed his plate, and started pushing Harry over. "You heard her highness, budge up!"

Harry hit the ground with a shout, but came up laughing and shoving at Ron. Ron slid halfway onto Tonks seat, his ears quite pink. Tonks lowered her shoulder and bulled her way onto Shack's seat. The bald auror looked at Moody, who glared back at him with the magical eye first then his real one too, and went to the other side of Moody and sat in Bill's lap. Bill, laughing loudly, rolled out from beneath Shack and scooped up Fleur. She squealed in surprise. Bill deposited her into the open seat that was next to her and kissed her.

"I have 'boojed'," announced Fred amid the shuffling of plates as people reclaimed their dinners. Gabrielle looked at the twins who were now dramatically indicating the open seat between them. She sat down.

"Eh... zank you." Gabrielle enjoyed the spectacle, but was feeling a little sheepish now.

"Everything to your liking now, miss?" asked George. He sounded just like the head waiter at the muggle restaurant that Papa's ministry function had been at.

"I have no plate," Gabrielle pointed out helpfully.

"She has no plate, dear brother," echoed Fred. "You may use these hands to support your evening repast." He held his hands flat on the table in front of her. Gabrielle looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"No need for that, easily fixed, no trouble at all," said George. He put his hand under a folded napkin held in other hand, and stared at it with great concentration.

"Ooh, he's just learned this. This is good," whispered Fred next to her ear.

"And... wall-la!" exclaimed George. With a flourish of his hand he pulled the napkin away. In his other hand a plate had appeared.

"Zank you," said Gabrielle as she took the plate. Then she stopped in amazement as the others clapped lightly. How had he done that? He had no wand! The plate was heavy and solid too. Conjuring such objects was supposed to be hard. That's what Fleur had said. He must be really powerful, thought Gabrielle. She glanced back at George, who winked at her. Gabrielle blushed, and quickly put her plate down. A knife and fork floated over, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley's waving wand.

"Oh Mum. I was going to use my demon-summoning trick to get those!" protested Fred.

"Since when can you summon a demon?" asked Tonks.

Fred smirked and said in his smoothest voice, "I have many talents. Be glad to show you some of then after a few drinks at the pub." Tonks rolled her eyes.

"Where is Ginny?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Gabrielle glanced at Harry. He was back to moving his food around without eating. He looked unhappy, but not as bereft as Ginny had been. "Ginny says she has zee, eh, headache. I am to bring her some dinner after."

"(Why not bring her something now so you can take off that awful hose?)" needled Fleur.

Gabrielle ignored Fleur and tried to follow the conversation between Bill and Alastor Moody. They were discussing the wards around the Weasley home. She was hoping the two men were almost finished as that meant she would finally be allowed to go outside the house. She and Ginny, and possibly Harry, were the only ones who were not of age, and they were not able to roam the property without Mrs. Weasley organizing a full security detail. It seemed a little much. Gabrielle was sure that her parents had not heard how bad the fear of You-Know-Who was or she surely would not have been allowed to go early. Unfortunately, whatever the two men were saying about it did not involve either of the phrases 'it is done' or 'all finished'.

Dinner at the Weasley household was much different than at home, Gabrielle reminded herself. The table was crowded and there was a lot more food, but it was the constant conversations that was most unusual. Papa preferred a quiet table, and talk was reserved for the sitting room. Here, the aurors and Mr. Weasley were discussing something that had happened at the Ministry while George and Fred finished describing an unfortunate customer who had somehow set off a Weasley Whiz Bang firework in his robes. Across the table Fleur was chiding Bill for pouring more gravy onto his food, "It eez not even a prop-air sauce, zeez brown sludge." Gabrielle noticed Mrs. Weasley stiffen.

"It was a smashing spectacle. This bloke tearing around in circles, smoke pouring out of his robes!" laughed George.

"The shop crowd was absolutely rolling, in tears. Every one of them wanted to know if it was a new Wheeze!" enthused Fred.

By this time the gravy boat had made it back around the table to Gabrielle and the twins. Gabrielle was more used to cream sauces and reductions, and had yet to try Mrs. Weasley's gravy. The twins were heavy users of it, Gabrielle noted. Their plates were almost completely brown, as was Ron's. Harry's wasn't as brown, but since he was just stirring his food around it was hard to tell how much he had used.

"We fixed up a prototype right after the shop closed. It's a little rough around the edges, but it should be a 'hot' item," said George with an exaggerated wink. "It needs a bit of testing," he continued with a glance at Ron.

"What happened to that poor fellow in the shop?" asked Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle decided she was trying to ignore Fleur's side of the table now.

"Off to St. Mungo's to uncook his bits," crowed Fred. "We think he was trying to nick it. Serves him right."

Gabrielle decided it was time again to do her part to improve the relations between the Weasleys and Delacours. She reached for the gravy boat.

The gravy boat was heavier than she expected though. It was really more like a soup tureen. Even after the small lakes on her future brothers-in-law's plates she still needed both arms to lift it up.

Gabrielle had just picked up the vessel with both arms reaching across her plate when the twins looked at each other, grinned, and jabbed a finger each into her upper ribs. She gave a yelp and instinctively brought her elbows back to her sides. This brought the container of gravy quickly to her chest, where the sudden stop launched a brown wave onto her face and chest. Temporarily blinded, Gabrielle tried to set the gravy boat back onto the table. She misjudged it and the remaining gravy toppled into her lap.

Fumbling for her napkin to clear her eyes, Gabrielle became conscious of the uproar at the table. She could hear the laughter and could make out Fleur apologizing for her. This isn't my fault, thought Gabrielle. Above all else she could hear Mrs. Weasley shouting at the twins.

To her left, someone, presumably George, was wiping one of her eyes. To her right, she supposed Fred had taken her arm. When the wiping ended, she opened one eye. George was eating a piece of bread soaked in gravy and was holding another, fresh slice. She looked toward Fred. Fred was licking her arm clean. "Eew!" exclaimed Gabrielle, this kind of help I don't need. She tried to pull away from Fred and dodge George's bread slice. Impulsively, she grabbed George's fork and her own and jabbed one into each twins' leg.

Identical howls erupted from each side as George and Fred jerked away, toppling their chairs.

"Bloody hell! She stabbed me!" shouted Fred.

"I'm bleeding bleeding over here! How about a healing charm for me, Harry?" pleaded George.

"I see spots, it's all going dark," moaned Fred.

"Serves you right!" Mrs. Weasley declared. "What will her parents think of our family? First she's hurt, then you turn her into a flamingo, and now you reprobates cover her in gravy. _Scourgify. Scourgify._" Mrs. Weasley wielded her wand like she was fencing, and soon Gabrielle's face was clean. "That's a bit better, isn't it dear?"

"Oui, Zank you," replied Gabrielle. She scraped a handful of gravy from her lap, and dribbled it onto her sliced beef. "I am sorry ze gravy is spilled."

"I'm sorry I'm only covered in blood. Not an emergency around here apparently," grumbled George.

"I'm going to take my trousers off so I can do up a proper tourniquet," announced Fred.

"(Now I see why you dressed as clown,)" said Fleur icily. "(You are so much trouble.)"

"You keep your clothes on Fred. You've embarrassed Gabrielle enough this evening," scolded Mrs. Weasley. She summoned a bucket and mop from the storeroom after finishing cleaning Gabrielle, and charmed them to start swabbing the floor.

"I bet she wouldn't mind George taking off his trousers," muttered Fred. There actually did seem to be a bloodstain on his leg.

"I say let him take the trousers off. Those scrawny legs are good for a laugh," suggested Tonks.

"Don't get your hopes up Tonks. He hasn't got a snake bite," said George.

"Enough of that fooling around. George, Fred - get over here," hissed Mrs. Weasley. The twins cringed at her expression. They took out their wands and with a few quick flicks cleaned themselves up as they came over. Mrs. Weasley seemed to loom over the three of them.

"Apologize now!" snarled Mrs. Weasley with a challenging glint in her eye. A tense moment passed.

"I am sorry I put zee forks in you!" blurted Gabrielle as she turned to the twins.

"That's not what I meant!" said Mrs. Weasley.

Gabrielle spun to face her. "I am sorry I ran on ze stairs. I am sorry for ze blood on ze carpet. I am sorry ze gravy is spilled." Right now she was sorry she got out of bed too. Little besides lunch had gone as she had hoped.

"No dear. I meant you don't need to apologize. They do," said Mrs. Weasley more gently.

"Why? She's loads better at it than us," noted Fred.

"I think it's that politeness thing again," explained George. Fred looked rather dubious at that.

"She stabbed me. She is deranged."

"Mum has more choice in cutlery, brother."

"Ah. Well spotted. So, um, how does it go?"

"A simple sorry ol' chap kind of thing, I would think. It's not like she is bleeding."

"Unlike us."

"Right, about that, all a matter of preparation. Won't catch us off-guard next time."

"Constant vigilance! Haven't I been saying that?" boomed Moody.

"Just get on with it already," warned Mrs. Weasley.

"Right, right," said George, who gave Fred a nod.

"Dear Gabrielle, we are so very sorry we poked you," singsonged the twins together.

"I'd hold out for something a bit better than that," advised Tonks.

"You can sit beside Arthur and me, dear," offered Mrs. Weasley. "It's more safe."

"Oh. But, eh, I like to sit by George. And Fred." Gabrielle could feel her face warm up. Fred rolled his eyes, and then gave George a look. George had a mulish look on his face. Fred raised his eyebrow, and George looked undecided, then put on a sour look. Fred wore a look of glee as they returned to their seats. Having watched the silent exchange, Gabrielle thought, maybe I should have switched seats.

Gabrielle concentrated on eating, rarely raising her eyes from her plate. This helped her ignore the whispered barbs in French from Fleur, and the snickers from Tonks. Gabrielle found the gravy was actually quite complimentary in the normal small amounts, instead of the earlier mouthful. She told Mrs. Weasley as much and got a beaming smile in return.

When Gabrielle was about half done, Fred nudged her. He held out a small bit of bread with a whole pat of butter on it. She stared at it. Another opportunity for humiliation, Gabrielle thought, but I suppose stabbing them had been a little much. Gabrielle put a smile on her face and took the the bread from Fred. With one steadying breath, she stuffed it into her mouth and ate it. Nothing happened.

Fred selected another butter pat, and nudged Gabrielle again. She took the butter and vestigial bread slice and ate it. Gabrielle expected to turn into some kind of bird, but again nothing happened. She was about to finish her potatoes when Fred nudged her once more while holding out another pat of butter balanced on some bread crust.

While Gabrielle was used to the idea of penance because of her 'incorrect behavior', the idea of eating her way through the half pound of butter pats to get to her atonement made her queasy. She whispered to Fred, "Can you not ask Harry to find it? I can not eat zis much butter."

"Why, what are you suggesting? I was just showing there were no hard feelings," replied Fred smoothly.

"Please. I will eat ze Wheeze, but not all ze butter." Gabrielle looked past Fred to see if Harry had overheard. He seemed to be lost in thought. Some angry thoughts by the look on his face, thought Gabrielle.

That didn't deter Fred. He lightly thumped Harry on the head, then slightly harder even though he had turned.

"What?" Harry said sharply.

"Sorry to interrupt your dinner conversation - oh wait, you haven't said a word all night. Anyway, the Blond Bludger here says she will eat whichever bit of butter you pick out," said Fred.

"Why does she need me to pick out butter?" asked Harry.

"She respects your taste in cheese, if you know what I mean," added George. Harry stared at George nonplussed. Gabrielle thought Harry looked very cute like that - his eyes were so bright and gorgeous.

"Er, right... Oh! Right." Harry pulled the dish with the butter to him, and squinted at it. He moved his head around to look at it from different angles. It reminded Gabrielle of a heron judging the distance to a frog before striking. When he looked up to scan the table Gabrielle was surprised at how different his eyes seemed. They were almost piercing and reflected the light differently. Gabrielle didn't really like these eyes.

After the third scan of the table, Harry smirked at Fred and pointed a finger down the table. Fred followed the finger, then closed his eyes as if in pain. Gabrielle turned. Mrs. Weasley was just raising a well-buttered slice of bread to her mouth.

Gabrielle stood up. "Mrs. Weasley! Don't eat ze butter," she exclaimed.

"Why ever not?" the Weasley matron asked suspiciously, already eying the twins.

"It... it is, has gone, eh, bad," explained Gabrielle.

"Seems all right to me," said Ron, smiling maliciously.

"Eh, not all ze butter is bad," started Gabrielle. She glanced at George nervously. He was shaking with stifled laughter.

"What? You mean just this bit has gone off?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Eh... it must begin at some part," finished Gabrielle lamely.

"It's now or never, dear brother," whispered George.

"And what do you think caused the butter to go bad?" asked Mrs. Weasley in a tone that suggested she was circling her prey and about to pounce.

Gabrielle was trying to work out a reasonable explanation and decide how to translate doxy mite eggs. 'It was... perhaps... at ze farm zere were YEEAAG!" Gabrielle shrieked in sudden pain. It felt like her backside was burning. She looked behind her, and could see dark clouds of smoke coming from her dress. The jump forward she had taken at the first jolt of pain now became a sudden compulsion to run. Gabrielle practically climbed over George and gave in to the urge. Except that she seemed constrained to run in a tight circle. She became a comet with a very small orbit, trailing small flames and a great deal of smoke.

"(Fire! I'm on fire!)" she cried when she wasn't otherwise howling in agony. The rest of the table sat motionless as thoughts caught up to the sudden change in reality. Then nine wands snapped up and nine voices called out nearly as one, "_Aqueous!_"

The resulting wall of water swept over Gabrielle just as she turned to the table again in her circling. The fire was extinguished, thoroughly extinguished. Gabrielle was swept from her feet and disappeared from view. George and Fred leapt up and fished her out from beneath the sideboard.

"Are you all right Gabrielle?" asked George with concern, and he began drying her with his wand.

Gabrielle spit the mouthful of water she had at him, "You... set me on fire."

"Uh, sorry about that. We'll make it up to you. Did it hurt much?" asked George.

Gabrielle could feel Fred behind her fiddling with something, but tried to get her point across to George. "You set me on fire." She attempted a deadly glare.

"Haven't got much time here, luv," whispered George. "Was that the worst pain you ever felt? And I didn't set you on fire, Fred did."

Mrs. Weasley had sprung into motion, but halted when she heard a voice from the sitting room call out in a French accent, "'Allo? Madame Weasley? Gabrielle?"

"I will speak to my muzzer, Molly," smiled Fleur.

"Zee Skele-Gro was ze worst pain," Gabrielle replied to George. "You let him set me on fire," Gabrielle persisted.

"You did stab him. What would you compare the pain to?"

"Something's off. The hole is almost a quarter bigger than you figured," noted Fred.

"Papa used a switch on me, once, when I broke his wand. It hurt ze same," Gabrielle answered, twisting to try and see what Fred was looking at.

"Good, that's a good comparison. Not a bad level for an advanced prank," murmured George. Mrs. Weasley was now bearing down on them.

"Only did the layer it was on," commented Fred. "We need to go." He took something from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, as did George. Moments later, with their legs churning at impossible speeds, the twins were gone with a slam of the door.

"Blast those two!" called Mrs. Weasley. "I am so very sorry Gabrielle. Are you all right?"

"I am fine now," Gabrielle told Mrs. Weasley. She was already dry, and her backside didn't hurt much at all. That didn't stop Mrs. Weasley from fussing.

"Oh no. It's burned a big hole right through the dress," Mrs. Weasley informed Gabrielle. Gabrielle felt around behind her. With a gasp she turned her back away from the crowd at the table. I am glad I wore the hose, thought Gabrielle.

"I don't think I can do anything about the hole. I'm afraid the dress is ruined," said Mrs. Weasley. At least something good has come out of this, thought Gabrielle. "Um, I believe your mother has called," continued Mrs. Weasley.

Gabrielle started edging for the sitting room. "Perhaps you should change, dear?" called Mrs. Weasley.

"(Ah. Here is Gabrielle now, Maman,)" said Fleur when Gabrielle entered. "(I'll just leave you two to talk.)"

"(Hello Maman. How is Papa?)" greeted Gabrielle, carefully keeping her front to the fire.

Gabrielle's mother, being a half-Veela, was a very striking woman of hard-to-place age with a full, thick mane of silvery hair. She did not answer Gabrielle immediately, which Gabrielle knew to be a bad sign, and Gabrielle could tell by the subtle head shakes that she was counting, which was even a worse sign. Tomorrow, Gabrielle decided to herself, she would look into setting Fleur on fire.

"(Your father is well. You know, Gabrielle, you are supposed to be going to Beauxbatons this fall,)" began Madame Delacour.

"(Yes. I am looking forward to it,)" said Gabrielle.

"(It is a boarding school,)" continued Madame Delacour.

"(Yes...)"

"(A school where you will be without close supervision, where you will be expected to behave with some degree of maturity.)" Gabrielle looked down. "(How can we send you to school when you are away less than two days before an emergency call?)"

"(It was...)" began Gabrielle.

"(It was unthinking is what it was: to impress 'Arry Potter. Tell me, was he impressed with you lying unconscious after you cracked two of his ribs?)"

"(What?)" Gabrielle looked up sharply. No one had told her this. "(He never mentioned such a thing.)"

"(I suspect he won't be seeking out silly little girls for conversation,)" asserted Madame Delacour.

"(I had lunch with him. He is very nice and he never mentioned being hurt. Did Fleur say this?)" Gabrielle asked heatedly.

"(Madame Pomfrey reported his condition. I suspect that is why she came all the way from Hogwarts.)"

"(Madame Pomfrey is a friend of the Weasley family,)" noted Gabrielle. Perhaps she could derail this conversation.

"(Yes, I'm sure she stops by regularly. So tell me now, have you enthralled him? Do you hold his heart in your hand? Or can you see all this trouble was just the silly dream of a...)"

"(Stop it!)" interrupted Gabrielle. "(I don't want a boyfriend. I just wanted him to remember me as more than a helpless hostage.)"

"(Do you think he remembers you as a mature young woman, or a blond bludger?)" Madame Delacour was becoming agitated. Unknowingly, her words hit Gabrielle quite hard as Gabrielle recalled Fred's at dinner. A prickly feeling started in Gabrielle's eyes.

"(It was an accident. I have already apologized to him.)" Gabrielle tried to nonchalantly wipe her eyes.

"(And the upset at dinner, was that also the action of a mature young woman?)"

"(No Maman.)" Gabrielle was finished. She now just wanted to crawl into bed and cry a little.

Madame Delacour looked undecided, but continued. "(You know, of course, that Madame Maxime does not tolerate such misbehavior as you have shown today. I have made inquiries of local tutors, should your father and I decide against Beauxbatons.)"

Gabrielle felt like she was hit with a hammer. She gasped, and couldn't stop the tears from falling. "(Maman, no. It was... it was just pranks by George and Fred Weasley. Nothing more! It is the way they are,)" Gabrielle protested, before falling silent and sitting before the hearth.

"(Nothing has been decided yet. Your father knows the importance of a good education and holds out hope you will settle down under the weight of studies. I have no reason for optimism.)"

"(Yes, Maman.)"

"(One last thing. How did you unlock the hall cabinet? I noticed your muggle junk was removed.)"

"(The two weeks were over...)"

"(I asked how you unlocked it. Were you trying to use your father's wand again? Or you sister's?)"

"(No. I didn't use any wand. It was not locked,)" said Gabrielle, adding "to me" silently. Philippe said most wizards lock things by magically freezing the lock mechanism, not by sealing the door. He said if you could get at the hinges, the door was not actually locked.

"(Hmmph. This floo connection will end soon. I suppose asking you to steer clear of trouble is too much?)"

"(I will try, Maman. I do try.)"

"(We will be arriving by port-key in a few days. Mind your sister, stay out of Madame Weasley's way, and try not to injure yourself or others.)"

"(Yes Maman. Goodnight Maman.)"

"(All is not yet lost. Goodnight Gabrielle, and tell Fleur goodnight from me.)" With a final sigh, the image of Madame Delacour disappeared.

Gabrielle sat morosely by the fire, trying to rein in her tears even as her churning thoughts kept them flowing. To lose her place at Beauxbatons would be something she would never be able to live down. The disaster at dinner hadn't been her fault at all. If Fleur hadn't had to tell Maman right off... And this morning, it, well, it had been her doing, but Fleur not telling her that Harry had already arrived was one of the causes. Gabrielle had been looking forward to new friends and new things at Beauxbatons. And probably new disasters, she thought with a frown. If she was away at school, Fleur would not be around to amplify any trouble, though. She needed to speak to Papa, to explain herself. She couldn't use the floo though, and an owl would take too long. Was she really so much trouble that they would take away Beauxbatons?

Gabrielle tried to picture the next few days before her parents arrived. Any new disasters would be the last flick of the wand. But she could not go outside to avoid people and, anyway, she had to eat. She could sit next to Fleur at mealtimes, Gabrielle thought. That would certainly reduce any interactions, but she thought of George and Fred again. They were so interesting and fun, and, Gabrielle realized with consternation, they had not graduated Hogwarts. Was this a sign? At a table with Tri-Wizard champions, aurors, and a curse-breaker she gravitated to the wizards that had left school early. Was it bad judgement on her part again, or some deeper truth about her?

"(This is ridiculous,)" Gabrielle said to the embers. "(Harry Potter saw more to me, and he was not wrong. I will be more. Even if I am hopeless. That's what I should learn from George. And Fred.)"

Gabrielle's new resolution dried her tears, and she got up to edge her way along the wall to hide the hole in the dress. Before she left the sitting room she had a better thought, and wrapped herself in the crocheted throw. Out in the hallway she met Mrs. Weasley on her way down the stairs; she was carrying a tray.

"Hello Gabrielle. I just brought up some dinner for Ginny."

"Oh, good," Gabrielle replied, at a loss for where to go now. She needed to be alone, and if Ginny was still curled up that counted as being alone. But if she was eating... Gabrielle had noticed a table behind the sofa in the sitting room. She used to hide in a similar arrangement at Delacour manor.

"I, er, looked in on you before. I was hoping to catch you to see if you needed to talk to someone over some hot chocolate." Mrs. Weasley set the tray down, and opened her arms.

Gabrielle whimpered, then burst into tears. She flung herself into Mrs. Weasley's arms and sobbed, "Yes."


	3. Egyptian Tea

Chapter Three - Egyptian Tea

Tap. Tap. "Gabrielle? Ginny?"

Gabrielle shifted slightly, and cracked open an eye. The sheer curtains showed that it was still very early. She couldn't even guess the time since she had very little experience of these early hours. It was too early to deal with Fleur. Ginny should handle it, Gabrielle decided, as it is her room. She closed her eyes completely and tried to go back to sleep.

Tap. Tap. "Gabrielle? Ginny? Please."

Gabrielle was feeling the warm sluggishness of the beginnings of sleep when something landed on her face. And they say I am not mature, thought Gabrielle. Well, it won't work - I am asleep. Except that whatever Ginny had thrown wasn't clean. In fact, it smelled very much like cheese, although it was fuzzy. Fuzzy cheese was not a good image to have in one's head if one is trying to figure out what is on one's face. Gabrielle pulled the offending item from her. It was a woolen sock, with a pattern of, perhaps, snitches on it. It was also too big to be Ginny's, which must mean...

"Eew," complained Gabrielle, and she tried to throw it back onto Ginny. Ginny, more awake than she seemed, snatched it out of the air and redirected to the floor on the far side of the room while twisting away from the door. The door then opened, catching Gabrielle propped up on one elbow.

"(Ah, Gabrielle. I thought I heard you,)" Fleur whispered as she came into the room.

"(What is it? What time is it?)" asked Gabrielle in a normal voice. Ginny would not go back to sleep now if she could help it.

"(Hush. We don't need to wake Ginny. I just need the tins of unctions Ginny had yesterday,)" Fleur said quietly.

"(Is someone hurt?)" asked Gabrielle with concern.

"(No, no. Everything is all right. I just need the tins, please.)"

"(They were on the table here.) answered Gabrielle. She started to paw through the pile of clothes. "(Hold this a minute.)"

Fleur held the pile of clothes Gabrielle thrust at her, and Gabrielle quickly found the tins. She turned to hand them to Fleur. Fleur's housecoat had opened more at the neck, and Gabrielle could see the need for the Bruise-Be-Gone.

"(You are hurt!)" she said in alarm at the dark spots near the base of Fleur's neck.

"(It is nothing. Give me the tins.)"

Gabrielle could see it was something. The pattern of bruises were like a hand print around her neck. "(He has hurt you!)" she blurted.

"(It is nothing,)" hissed Fleur.

"(It is not nothing. I'm going to floo Papa.)"

"(He has left a mark on me, yes, and that is not where I am sore, but he has not hurt me.)"

"(He has. Don't be crazy - you can't marry him.)"

"(You would not understand. Say nothing of this!)"

"(You are being stupid! How can you marry a bully?)" demanded Gabrielle.

Fleur gestured for Gabrielle to calm down, and sat on the bed. "(You know I like to wrap William around my finger, yes?)" Gabrielle nodded - it was a topic that generated a fair amount of disgust among the Weasley siblings. "(I like to do that because it means he is mine.)"

"(But you don't hurt him, do you?)" Gabrielle asked.

Fleur ignored the question. "(When the moon is full, like last night, William is much more possessive of me, and takes what he wants.)"

"(What does he want so badly?)" asked Gabrielle.

"(Me,)" replied Fleur with a half-smile. "(It does not help that his sense of smell is so powerful at these times, and that I have begun to look forward to moonlit nights.)"

Gabrielle had never seen Fleur blush in her life, so even the slight one now was a surprise. "(I do not understand.)"

"(I am glad at your age you do not understand. William has not hurt me - he would never hurt me.)"

"(I still think I should floo Papa. He would want to know this,)" asserted Gabrielle. Certainly Papa had sought to delay the wedding after the attack to make doubly sure of Bill's condition.

"(You do not need to tell Papa everything,)" Fleur said quietly.

"(Why not? You tell Maman everything I do.)"

"(This is not a game Gabrielle, it is my life.)"

"(My life is not a game also. Did you know that Maman does not want me to go to Beauxbatons?)"

Fleur looked shocked at that. "(I did not know. Let us speak of this later, but for now you must promise me you will tell no one - neither Weasley nor Delacour. I will fix it with Maman, but I need to help William recover.)"

"(He is in worse shape?)"

"(We will be fine by breakfast. I still expect you to atone for your callus words about William,)" reminded Fleur as she left the room with a slight waddle.

Fleur, thought Gabrielle, has lost her senses as much as Grandmere. Hopefully this new insanity will skip generations, or only affect first-borns.

"What was that about?" queried Ginny. She had rolled back over when the door closed.

Gabrielle thought for a minute, then replied, "I am not sure. And I promised Fleur I would not tell."

"Hmmph. Be careful of those promises," advised Ginny. "What did you get in return for your silence?"

"I do not know." Now that Gabrielle thought about it, she should have gotten some more assurances from Fleur first.

"No wonder the twins like you. A bit naïve and always ready for another round," Ginny laughed.

"Zey set me on fire, at dinner," reported Gabrielle.

"Mum told me everything. I'm sorry to say this, but it was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time. The fork attack was brilliant. It cheered me up for a long while," Ginny smiled. "Oh, what's wrong?"

"Zey will all laugh at me," responded a glum Gabrielle.

"Yes. It's hard to imagine anyone not laughing given the story Mum told. Just don't hide yourself when people tell it, and the story will be more about the twins than you. And the twins like being the center of attention."

Gabrielle slid out of bed and pulled on the denims that Mrs. Weasley had repaired, and the jumper. She would wear her 'G' all day today. It would be interesting to see if Fleur noted it.

"Are you coming down for breakfast?" asked Gabrielle.

Ginny looked at her like she had spoken French. "What? You mean like, now?"

"I have to do somezing for Bill." Gabrielle drew out the coffeepress and the painted white tin box. It was the only thing Gabrielle could think to do, and she hoped Bill would enjoy the coffee. It did not feel very fair to give up the last of the coffee from Gaston for a moment's rudeness, especially given all the things that had happened to her yesterday and Fleur's bruises this morning, but it would appease Fleur and it might be considered a mature act. Besides, there might be enough to have a half cup herself.

"Go on then. I won't be coming down until the sun is good and up and Har..." Ginny's reply died on her lips, and she rolled back over. That's a bit pathetic, Gabrielle thought.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle went downstairs carrying the coffee and coffeepress. She was sure no one else was going to be up, but she did not slide down the bannister as she would habitually do at Delacour Manor. With her luck of late she knew someone would jump out into her path - she had heard, for instance, that Harry had an invisibility cloak. Another collision with him and Maman would see that her schooling years would be very lonely.

Gabrielle was just reaching the bottom of the stairs when Mrs. Weasley came banging through the kitchen door, swinging a broom and firing hexes at something small and fast moving. She took no notice of Gabrielle until she came stalking back from the door. "What was zat?" asked Gabrielle, who was feeling quite mature for deciding not to slide on the bannister now that she knew that a disaster had been narrowly avoided.

"A garden gnome! Marched right into the kitchen and started helping himself to the biscuits. I go for him and he waves a note in my face - says its a pass from Gred and Forge. The cheeky bu..." Mrs. Weasley stopped.

"Buggir?" prompted Gabrielle.

Mrs. Weasley reddened, "Yes, well, nevermind. You're up quite early today, dear."

"I will make zee muggle coffee for Bill," Gabrielle said, gently rattling the tin box.

"Oh. Well that's just grand."

Gabrielle followed Mrs. Weasley back into the kitchen. The matron of the house had clearly been trying to make waffles for sometime, and it wasn't going well. Gabrielle spotted the problem immediately.

"Where did zis come from?" asked Gabrielle, cautiously pointing at the waffle-maker.

"Your Mum sent it over a few days ago. I haven't had a chance to try it until this morning. I can't quite get the knack of it," said Mrs. Weasley, indicating the half-raw half-carbonized test batches.

"I zought I knew it," noted Gabrielle. "I will have ze word wizz it."

Like most of the gadgets in Maman's kitchen, the waffle-maker was charmed for personality. Some of them were even charmed for speech, although not the waffle-maker. Maman said that making dinner was like spending the day with friends.

For reasons that no one at Delacour manor could fathom, the magical kitchen gadgets disliked Gabrielle. Those that spoke were extremely rude to her, and none would work properly for her. Although, her Maman had noted, that had begun to change of late. Gabrielle would not suggest an explanation for this.

Gabrielle went to the end of the counter, crouched down, and then crawled back to just below the waffle-maker. She stood suddenly while grabbing the handles of the waffle-maker. It was trying to open up, but now could not. The little signal lights glared angrily at Gabrielle.

"(You're being replaced!)" taunted Gabrielle. "(Maman has noticed the loose leg - she's hoping Mrs. Weasley will like you.)"

The waffle-maker shook violently. Gabrielle held tight to the handles so it could not open up. This waffle-maker had once snapped shut on her hand while she reached for a fresh waffle - it had required another trip to the healer.

"(I still have the pliers! If you go back to Maman with a bad report and another loose leg she will not keep you. You know this.)" The appliance stopped shaking. Madame Delacour liked things to be just so and Gabrielle knew that the loose leg bothered her, but she could not bear to part with something that was still good. So Madame Delacour would wait for someone to admire the offending item, then she would find any excuse to make it a gift.

"(Mrs. Weasley feeds many people - she might use you often if you do well. And if you are good to everybody here, I might fix your leg. Maman does not want you anymore, but Mrs. Weasley might.)"

Gabrielle let go of the little machine and it spun itself away as if sulking. Mrs. Weasley approached with a bowl of batter.

"Shall we give it another try then?" Mrs. Weasley asked gently, holding out a ladle of batter. The waffle-maker rocked back and forth until it faced her, and opened up.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle helped Mrs. Weasley make waffles. That is, she helped find places to stack the cooling cakes when the more obvious places had been filled. Gabrielle wasn't sure why so many waffles were needed and had asked. Mrs. Weasley explained that she was trying different batter recipes and that there were many toppings for waffles, and handed her another plateful. Gabrielle wondered if the waffle-maker had taken control of Mrs. Weasley, since it was now making a cooing noise she had never heard it make before. Gabrielle also worried that another female in her life had lost their senses.

"Mrs. Weasley?" asked Gabrielle, accepting more waffles to stack... somewhere.

"Hmm... dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly as she swirled two different color batters onto the irons.

"It is almost time for breakfast. I need to make zee coffee for Bill."

"Oh." Mrs. Weasley looked up and visibly startled as she looked around. "I, um, guess this will be enough for today," she said with a sigh.

Gabrielle moved off to find the mortar and pestle, in case a laugh escaped the hand over her mouth. Mrs. Weasley looked at the machine wistfully, "I think it might be able to do shapes."

As Mrs. Weasley whipped the kitchen into a frenzy of activity with her wand so eggs and bacon could join the menu, Gabrielle began crushing the last of her coffee beans a few at a time. A grinder would be the proper tool, thought Gabrielle, but there was no way she could lug around an old hand-cranked one and an electric one would not work here. The grinder at Delacour manor refused to work on the muggle beans, but at least it had been polite in its refusal.

The first disappointment of the day was delivered by Mrs. Weasley in the form of a large coffee mug. It was much larger than the mug Gabrielle used at home, which meant there would be no leftover coffee for her. The vague feeling of injustice for having to do something for Bill after seeing Fleur this morning came back.

The second disappointment came shortly after that, when Gabrielle went for the kettle. Maman had apparently been spring-cleaning, and had noticed the faint scratches on the embossed metal face. Those came compliments of the little scratchy-looking thing on the knife from Gaston, but the kettle stubbornly refused to heed Gabrielle's requests. She stared at it, and it frowned at her.

"(I need boiling water for this coffee, please,)" asked Gabrielle. She did not expect it to work but perhaps the kettle realized its situation and would obey.

"(You are not a proper witch. Nothing for you,)" hissed the kettle rudely.

"(I got a letter from Beauxbatons you know. I'll be starting in the fall,)" said Gabrielle. It was ridiculous to have to defend herself to a kettle, but she was a proper witch. Maybe she didn't have robes on and she didn't have a wand yet, but a witch was surely more than that.

"(I could give you more scratches. Then no one will want you. Give me boiling water,)" threatened Gabrielle.

"(Poke a hole in me with your filthy muggle knife. You are not a proper witch. Nothing for you!)" The kettle rattled on the counter and managed to shift a few inches.

"Is there some problem, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Ze kettle will not give me boiling water," replied Gabrielle somewhat reluctantly. She hoped she wouldn't have to explain more. "Is zere anozzer kettle? Ze wait is nozzing to me."

"What do you mean it won't give boiling water?" asked Mrs. Weasley with surprise. "You had no problem with the waffle-maker."

"Zee kettle is rude and does not listen," replied Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley looked at her closely, and Gabrielle could tell by her eyes that she suspected there was something more. It was a look that she saw all too often from Maman.

Mrs. Weasley did not follow through on her suspicions as Madame Delacour would have though. "Boiling water, please," she commanded.

"(It is my pleasure, my beautiful kitchen angel,)" replied the kettle dreamily. Gabrielle grabbed her stomach and pretended to retch. Within a minute the kettle began to whistle, vaguely along to the tune playing on the WWN. Gabrielle wondered at how different the transplanted kitchen gadgets were acting. She reached for the kettle. It turned quickly and spat steam at her, and she shrieked.

"(Nothing for you! You are not a proper witch,)" the kettle angrily hissed.

Mrs. Weasley appeared at her side, "How much water did you need?" She handed Gabrielle a large platter of eggs.

"Eh, for Bill's cup and a bit more," answered Gabrielle.

Mrs. Weasley poured the water into the coffeepress. "Take those to the table, dear."

Gabrielle backed through the door to the eating area. She noticed the large mug Bill normally used was already on the table, full and steaming. She returned to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Weasley about it.

"Oh, Fleur makes tea every morning for Bill up in her room, and sets it out for him before he comes down," explained Mrs. Weasley in a tone that said Fleur's actions met with her approval. Less enthusiastically she continued, "She really is quite devoted to him."

Gabrielle finished the coffee, and asked Mrs. Weasley for a warming charm for it. Gabrielle noted that there was a definite breeze in the Weasley kitchen now. She really must think that the coffee smells like fish, thought Gabrielle.

Gabrielle set the coffee at Bill's place at the table, and left a bit of parchment indicating it was for Bill. Then she poured the tea Fleur had made into a new mug. Gabrielle didn't particularly like tea, but she didn't feel she could waste it. She sighed as she thought how Fleur would not be telling Maman how helpful she had been this morning, or how she had suffered through a small cauldron of boring tea while Bill had the best coffee.

Gabrielle took a sip of the tea, gagged, and coughed. This was not the tea Mrs. Weasley made, she thought. It burned on the back of her throat and all the way down. The second sip was no better. Wheezing, Gabrielle wondered if this was an Egyptian tea. There was definitely something spicy to it, almost like a Pepper-Up potion. The third sip was okay, but she could still feel the heat in her stomach. It will take forever to drink this much, she thought while trying a few more sips.

Gabrielle went back into the kitchen, and helped Mrs. Weasley by bringing out the plates of waffles. With each trip she had more of the tea. The feeling of warmth was starting to spread, and she felt very energetic. When a waltz came on the WWN, Gabrielle spun around the table with a bowl of peach preserves as her partner. It was going to be a good day, she thought.

Mr. Weasley had come into the eating area. "You will have to save a dance for me at the wedding."

"I will dance wizz all Weasleys," promised Gabrielle. "Eh, perhaps not Ginny," Gabrielle added giggling. She put down the preserves, and had some more of the tea. The whole of her insides felt like they were glowing.

Gabrielle returned to the cooking area in a series of prancing leaps. Mrs. Weasley was answering the door, so Gabrielle looked into the icebox for more waffle toppings. She found a jar of pickles and laughed until tears fell at the thought of Ron eating them with the waffles. She carried the jar to the table.

The usual group of aurors sat at the table, talking in low voices to Mr. Weasley. Ron had not come down yet. Gabrielle was disappointed. She wanted to try and smile at him until he lost his brain, like Fleur did to him, and then she would make him eat the pickles.

"Are there kippers this morning?" asked Tonks.

Gabrielle looked behind her. Apparently she was supposed to know, since Mrs. Weasley wasn't there.

"What is a kippur? Zere are pickles," replied Gabrielle with a fit of giggles.

"Umm.. right," said Tonks. She scrunched up her face, then became a passable imitation of Fleur.

Gabrielle gasped mid-sip, accidentally inhaling the tea, which left her coughing and wheezing for breath.

"Bring zee kip-pairs, pleeze," ordered Tonks, imitating Fleur. This brought on another fit of giggles from Gabrielle, who needed a minute to pull herself together.

Mrs. Weasley had not returned to the kitchen when Gabrielle entered. It shouldn't be too hard to find these 'kip-pairs', thought Gabrielle. I only need to find something I don't recognize.

Gabrielle was still searching, and marveling at how many foods she could identify, when Mrs. Weasley came back in.

"What are you looking for, dear?" queried Mrs. Weasley.

"A kip-pair, I zink." The heat of the tea had moved into her shoulders and hips. She didn't feel like dancing anymore.

"Kippers? No. Not today. Could you bring out the bacon though?"

Gabrielle sagged a bit when she took the platter. She was starting to feel run-down, and hoped that the tea would wake her up again. Mrs. Weasley noticed.

"You did get up early this morning, dear. You've been a big help; go ahead and get something to eat."

Gabrielle set the platter on the table with a clatter, then slouched into her seat. She noticed that Harry and Ron had come down, but there was still no sign of Ginny.

Tonks, who looked like herself again, asked, "What happened to the kippers then?"

"Zere are none," replied Gabrielle. Whatever they are, she added to herself. She drank more of the tea, and served herself a waffle with a fumbling hand.

"Smells like kippers to me," declared Ron. "What's these pickles here for?"

The tea rewarmed Gabrielle's stomach, but it didn't make her feel anymore awake. She tried to stifle the giggles over the way Ron said pickles. She remembered bringing the pickles to the table, but not why.

The door from the wall banged open, and Bill came in sniffing the air loudly. The rest of the table went quiet, except for Gabrielle's muffled laughs. Bill strode over to his seat and lifted the mug to his nose, inhaling deeply. Dropping into his seat he brought the mug to his lips, then remained that way.

Mrs. Weasley came in with a bowl of clotted cream. She greeted everyone warmly, obviously happy with a full table. The house mother paused near Harry to encourage him to eat something. She came over to Gabrielle and placed two long meat forks on either side of her plate.

"I don't think we'll see the twins today after last night, but, you know," explained Mrs. Weasley gesturing at Alastor Moody. He gave her a thumbs-up. This set Gabrielle to laughing again.

"Ron, why do you have the pickles out?" asked his mother.

"'S not me! They were here the whole time."

Gabrielle could feel the warm feeling spreading to her elbows and knees. She was feeling more groggy than ever, and downing more of the tea didn't seem to be helping. Coffee was much better in the morning, she decided.

There was a clanking noise in the hall, like pans being dragged across a stone floor. Except for Bill, everyone turned to see the source of the noise.

"Good morning all. Sorry we're late," announced one of the twins. It was hard to tell which, as their faces were hidden beneath full medieval helmets that went along with the full sets of armor they wore. They clanked to the table, and dropped into chairs on either side of Gabrielle. The chairs groaned, and Gabrielle nearly slid of hers laughing.

"You see Fred," said the twin on her left picking up one of the meat forks clumsily with his gloved hand, "You have to stay one step ahead."

"Right you are George, but, blimey, these suits are hot," said the twin on her right. He lifted the visor, "Whose eating the pickles?"

"Where do you get suits of armor these days?" asked Tonks, who was waving her wand about to clean up a toppled glass of juice.

"Oh, there's a lot of this stuff around if you know where to look," explained the twin on the left.

"Hang on," piped Harry. "I know I had to polish that suit once or twice. You nicked those from Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"That's jumping to a conclusion, just a bit," declared the twin on the right. "It's not nicked if they let you have them."

"They let you have them?" asked Ron.

"No, we nicked them. But they did let us in, so it's their own fault. Not like we'll keep them long, right Fred?"

"(You are Fred,)" mumbled Gabrielle at the twin who just spoke.

"Good morning, everyone." greeted Fleur. She immediately focused on Bill, and moved quickly to his side. "William?"

"Depends on how well-armed the Deranged Delacour is, I suppose, George."

"(You are George,)" said Gabrielle. She was sure the twins were pretending to be each other. She was also sure that as appetizing as the strawberry preserves and cream had been minutes before, there was no way she could eat them now.

"What 'ave you done to William?" demanded Fleur, glaring at the twins and brandishing her wand.

"(It is the coffee from Gaston,)" called Gabrielle. "(It is very good.)"

"(Why is he not moving? What is wrong with your voice?)" The distress in Fleur's voice was obvious.

"(He is fine. How are you?)" demanded Gabrielle.

The twins looked at each other. The twin on her left grinned at said, "Looks like she got started early, Fred."

Gabrielle lurched to her feet and leaned toward the twin on her left. She smiled her best smile, then went face to face with the twin on her right. She noticed his ears reddening.

"(You are George,)" she declared, pointing to the twin on her right. "(And you are Fred,)" indicating the other with a flailing arm.

"Yeah? How can you be so sure?" asked the left twin.

"(George smells nice and you smell like you stay with pigs!)" laughed Gabrielle. She pushed up the end of her nose and made grunting noises at him, before missing her chair and collapsing on the ground. The twins looked at each other. Fred scowled while George looked surprised.

"Give that cup of hers a sniff, Fred," said the right twin quietly as he tried to help the seemingly boneless Gabrielle back up.

"(See!)" cried Gabrielle from the floor in triumph.

"Was this full?" whispered Fred after sipping Gabrielle's tea.

"(Hey! That is my cup.)"

"I doubt she's more than six stone... this could get messy," continued Fred.

"Let's have a walk then," called George as he scooped up Gabrielle. He rattled away from the table expounding the virtues of heavy metal clothing. Gabrielle's feet didn't reach the floor. Fred opened the door to the hallway.

"If you ruffians hurt her..." threatened Mrs. Weasley from the table as the door closed.

Out in the hall, Fred grabbed Gabrielle's legs and together they bundled her to Ginny's door.

George banged on the door, "Ginny? Can we come in?"

"Do you have to?" asked a muffled voice from inside.

"Yeah," replied Fred pushing open the door. "The armor is bad enough without lugging her around." The twins swung Gabrielle onto her bed.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Ginny, not moving from under the sheets.

"She's been drinking firewhiskey with some tea in it," explained Fred.

Gabrielle's head was still spinning a bit from the trip. She hadn't expected to be carried off by George, but she found she did not mind it. At all. The feeling of his strong arms around her had sent a thrill through her. She was reminded of this song she heard on the WWN at home, and began to sing.

"Not exactly a nightingale, is she?" snickered Fred.

"If she's at the singing stage, then there isn't much time," worried George. "You want to return the armor or get the detox potion?"

"Neither, frankly. But I'll head up to Hoggywarts. I'll have another go at Snape's cabinets while I'm there. You deal with her."

"Fine. You don't even know what she said," groused George. "Ginny, keep her in here and we'll bring you Harry's head on a platter."

"Piss off," muttered Ginny. "Can you at least silence her before you go?" Gabrielle had reached the best part, where she was more sure of the words.

"We'll be back before she spews," promised George as he and Fred closed the door behind them.

"Merlin, not that," prayed Ginny. "Oy! Keep it down, will ya!"

Gabrielle looked over in surprise, "(Ginny! You are missing breakfast. There are waffles, lots of waffles.)"

"What? What was Fred talking about with the firewhiskey?"

"(I think Fred is mad at me. I said he smelled like a pig,)" laughed Gabrielle giddily. "(Why are you still in bed?)"

"Sorry Gabrielle, but I don't know any French."

"(Are you still fighting with 'Arry?)" Ginny stiffened at the mention, but Gabrielle was oblivious. "(You don't have to go with him to help him, you can use the Veela spell!)"

Gabrielle jumped up out of bed, and collapsed to one knee before stumbling to the chest. She would gladly help Ginny; she would gladly be Ginny.

"How about laying down instead?"

"(Why won't this open?)" demanded Gabrielle pulling at the latch violently.

"That's my chest. Yours is over there. Did Fred or George give you the firewhiskey? Mum is going to kill them."

"Fire whiskey?" considered Gabrielle. "(I think it was Egyptian tea.)" She had an easier time opening her own trunk, and pulled out the leather-bound book. Gabrielle flipped it open to the back section and found the drawing for the spell. She moved unsteadily to Ginny's bed to show her.

"You aren't going to be sick all over my bed are you?" worried Ginny.

Gabrielle pushed the book into her hands, "(You can do this spell. It's supposed to protect him from harm in battle!)"

Ginny looked at the book, and her eyes flew open, "Sweet Morgana, what is this?"

"(It's a spell to keep your warrior from harm. In battles, mostly.)"

"Will you please talk to me in English!" shouted Ginny. Gabrielle stared at her in shock, then started laughing.

"(Sorry.) Eh, I am sorry."

"Where did you get this book?"

"Grandmere gave eet to me. Zere are spells in ze back. You can do zat spell on 'Arry," Gabrielle said with a bit more accent than usual.

"I can't do this with Harry!"

"Yes you can. Zere are many candles in ze kitchen." Gabrielle had seen them while hunting the kipper.

"Mum would kill both of us."

Gabrielle laughed hard at this, "She does not need to be zere!"

"That's not what I meant. If she found out about it it would be the end."

"(You want to help 'Arry or not?)"

"What?"

"I said, it would 'elp 'Arry a lot." Gabrielle added, "More zan ze waffles."

Ginny shook her head, "This is not real. Harry wouldn't let me do it, and I would need his cloak which is locked up in his room. It can't happen."

Gabrielle laughed again. Ginny must be joking around. "Not let you? You could do anyzing to 'im. 'E is like Bill. Did 'Arry break 'is ribs ze first day?"

"Huh? Um, yeah. I think he cracked a couple. It wasn't a big deal, no worse than what a bludger would do," replied Ginny.

"Eez zat what I am to people, ze Blond Bludger?" asked Gabrielle, her face falling.

"No. Anyway, we're all big quidditch fans so that wouldn't be that bad."

"(I can get 'Arry's cloak - I can open any lock,)" boasted Gabrielle, brightening once again.

"What?"

"You must learn a leetle French, please," tutted Gabrielle. It was hard enough to maintain her balance, let alone think in English. Why anyone would drink Egyptian tea in the morning was beyond her. "I will get 'Arry's coat. Eh, cloak."

"Gabrielle, I... I can't." A sharp knock on the door interrupted Ginny, who stashed the book under the spell books on her nightstand. "Who is it?"

"It's me, George."

Gabrielle jumped up to open the door, but tumbled to the ground one misplaced step later. She had only gotten back up to her hands and knees before the door opened and George entered. Gabrielle looked up at the tall ex-beater with a smirk on his face looming over her and was embarrassed at her position. Rushing to get back up to preserve her dignity had not been a good idea though, and she pitched forward. The only thing preventing another humiliating fall was the tight embrace of his waist, her face mashed against his abdomen.

"Missed me already, did you?" quipped George.

Gabrielle realized two things: first, that she could barely walk, and second, that George actually did smell nice. She did not release him, and closed her eyes.

"Er, Ginny? Can I get a bit of a hand here?" pleaded George when it became obvious that Gabrielle was not letting go.

"But it's so-o cute! You two can double up with Bill and Fleur," teased Ginny.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle pulled out one of the perfectly done waffles, bit it, and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. She was tucked under the table behind the sofa in the sitting room, sealed in as best she could by the useless clock in front of her. It was a family clock; there used to be a similar one at Delacour manor. Maman had gotten rid of it because once Gabrielle turned four it kept swinging Gabrielle's arrow to 'mortal peril' every time she was alone. Papa had found that funny, and still tells the story. The clock in front of her obviously didn't work anymore as all the hands pointed to 'mortal peril'. Unless, the thought came to Gabrielle, there was a giant comet heading toward Britain.

Gabrielle was considering that perhaps that would not be so bad. Her head was killing her. Fleur would, without doubt, contact Maman and report her behavior. Beauxbatons would be gone. Ginny had the book from her Grandmere, and Gabrielle would get in trouble for having it. And the twins had fled.

Gabrielle could not blame George. The memory of clinging to him was so mortifying. She could certainly understand why he left as soon as she had been pried loose and had that awful potion poured into her. Even if he did come by, how could she ever face him?

Fred was mostly blameless too. He was probably still mad about being stabbed, and then she had mocked him. Still, he had come by with a headache remedy, or so he said. First he had made her tongue, which felt like it was covered in fur, three feet long. Then he passed her what Ginny had afterwards called a Nosebleed Nougat. Fred had laughingly explained that sometimes headaches came from too much blood in the head. Gabrielle had seen her blood too often already to be panicked though, which had ended his fun. The Puking Pastille, however, had earned him an earful from Ginny and a literal earful from Gabrielle. After a cleanup he was forced into by Ginny, Fred had left in a huff without helping her head.

At that point Ginny felt so sorry for Gabrielle that she finally gave up her despair. Gabrielle had slipped out of the bedroom, however, when the older girl went to shower and sneaked a large pile of waffles from the kitchen. Gabrielle felt sure she would be able to remain hidden until at least dinner, unless someone really wanted to find her. She could not hide from magic.

Of course, Gabrielle thought, what was the point of hiding now? If she had done this before breakfast she would still be protecting something. Now she was only hiding from the humiliation. Gabrielle wondered if she would still do this at Beauxbatons, then teared up again when she realized she could answer the question right now. Gabrielle thought of what Ginny would do in her place, then realized that Ginny had been doing what Gabrielle was doing. Gabrielle wondered what George would do besides flee the silly little girl hugging him like a teddy bear. She knew what Fleur would do. Fleur would never be here because Fleur never acknowledged committing any gaffe and smiled her way through anything.

There was a thundering noise on the stairs. Each thump seemed to rattle her brain. Maybe, thought Gabrielle, I should find something with an 'F' to wear in case Fred came back with the potion.

It sounded like Harry and Ron had come down the stairs. She twisted the clock slowly so she could see the hall in the glass face. The auror Moody, the ever-present Tonks, and a man she did not recognize were there with a girl who had bushy brown hair. She was dressed in muggle clothes.

"Harry!" the girl squealed and wrapped her arms around Harry's chest, shaking him about. This went on until Harry pried her off. Maybe she cracked his ribs too, thought Gabrielle. Gabrielle remembered her from the Tri-Wizard tournament - she had been dating both Harry and that quidditch player. The girl's name had escaped her until she looked at the clock again. Hermione was also in 'mortal peril', and was giving Ron a hug too. It was a lot briefer than Harry's hug, but she buried her face into Ron's neck, which seemed to startle Ron. Gabrielle couldn't hear much of the conversation, and eventually the group moved from the bit of hallway she could see. Gabrielle went back to eating the waffle while considering the horrible state of her life.


	4. Is That The Same As Yes?

Chapter Four - Is That The Same As Yes?

Gabrielle woke to the sound of Fleur calling her name. She had gotten out of bed earlier than normal, and must have fallen asleep while examining her future prospects. That, she felt, was pretty telling. Based on Fleur's feet, Gabrielle could tell that Fleur was sitting on the sofa. She did not answer Fleur.

"(Ah, good. You are awake. You snore - did you know that? Anyway, you always hide under the tables behind the furniture,)" said Fleur. "(You may as well come out for a proper conversation.)"

She is bluffing, thought Gabrielle, and I do not snore. She waited for Fleur to leave.

"(I know you are back there Gabrielle. But I will not force you out just yet if you find it easier to stay out of trouble that way.)"

Gabrielle ignored this taunt too. She will go away.

"(I understand the tea made you sick. I add the liquor to William's tea on the morning after a full moon. Do not tell this to anyone. Those nights leave his nerves jangling.)"

And you bruised, thought Gabrielle meanly.

"(He certainly was quite taken with the coffee you made, and it worked as well as the tea for his nerves. William is very interested in getting more. You will tell him where you got it from,)" announced Fleur. When Gabrielle remained silent, Fleur continued, "(You can stay hidden until lunch; I assured Molly you would be there. Do not be obstinate.)"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle spent the next hour moping over how unfair life was, how mean Fleur was, and how her Maman did not understand her. It was beginning to be boring. She thought, I should have taken one of Fleur's old textbooks for something to do. It might be as close to Beauxbatons as she would get.

Commotion in the hall made Gabrielle look at the reflecting face of the clock. She could see Hermione yanking on Ron's arm, pulling him away from the door to the kitchen. That appeared to be something he was not happy with, but Gabrielle could see that, except for a couple of tugs that nearly pulled Hermione off her feet, he allowed her to drag him to the sitting room. Very quietly Gabrielle scooted further into the shadows.

"Come on, Hermione. It's almost lunch," complained Ron.

"I promise you won't miss it. Anyway, have you been in the kitchen proper? I've never seen so many waffles in one place before. There will be plenty to eat," said Hermione. "I wanted to, er, talk."

"Why can't we talk at the table then?" asked Ron.

"Harry and Ginny are in there. I thought we should give them a little privacy. And I wanted to talk in private too."

"I don't see leaving those two alone as a good thing. They had a bloody great row yesterday. This is the first time I've seen Ginny since then."

"If we hear any smashing of plates then we'll step in," said Hermione in a dismissive tone. "I wanted to, um, talk about...

"First, I really did want to stay in Little Whinging this summer, but when my parents surprised me with the trip to Majorica, well, I just couldn't turn them down. They don't know what is going on in the wizarding world, and I couldn't spring it on them then."

"'S all right. That didn't work out at all. Harry's uncle had a culinary when he heard our plan."

"A culinary?"

"Yeah. Had to go to hospital and everything."

"A coronary, perhaps?"

"Whatever. It wasn't pleasant after that. I ended up staying at Mrs. Figg's place, going over to Privet Drive to bring him food or unlock him from wherever they trapped him. A sodding nightmare."

"Ron, language," Hermione complained. "I can not believe those people!"

"And do you know what? They only stopped when Harry told me to threaten the shrubbery instead of them. Harry told them the Ministry would have no trouble with me cursing the bushes and turning flowers into weeds," said Ron shaking his head. "I can not see how he could manage to live there."

"Harry won't have to go back there anymore, at least."

"Yeah. Mind you, Harry never told them that. Just said 'See you next summer' like, well, like he meant it."

They lapsed into silence. Gabrielle, by looking under the sofa, could see Hermione's foot jiggling restlessly.

"So, did you miss me?" Hermione asked. "Only I sent those postcards and didn't get anything from you. Either of you."

"'Course we missed you. But I couldn't exactly send you an owl, not with you vacationing around all those muggles."

"Not an owl, no. You could have used the muggle post though. Surely Harry would know how to do that."

"He did, but, er, that takes muggle money, don't it? And Harry gave Mrs. Figg all of it because we were eating up her food."

Hermione sighed. Gabrielle wished she could see her face. "Did you at least want to send me a letter?" whined Hermione.

"Of course. Look, what's this about?"

Gabrielle heard Hermione sigh again, and she could tell that the older girl was now pacing. It dawned on Gabrielle that if it was close to lunch then Fleur would be coming back. Her sister would have no qualms about dragging her out from behind the sofa in front of people. Fleur would just add it to the 'List'. Gabrielle knew she would have to find another hiding spot, if it even mattered now. Two quick flashes caught her attention; Gabrielle wished she could see more.

"Umm, am I in trouble here?" cringed Ron.

"What? No, those were just a diversion ward and a privacy charm," replied Hermione, who resumed pacing.

"A diversion ward? When was that covered?"

"It wasn't. It is possible to read ahead, you know. Nothing stops you from turning the next page."

"But that's like reading the end of the story first!" declared Ron. There was silence for a moment.

"No, Ron, it isn't," concluded Hermione. "Look, I went to Majorica with a cousin of mine. She is muggle, so we really couldn't talk much about school without me sounding a bit like a spy or something. That left only one thing that she wanted to talk about: boys.

At first I thought she was being shallow, but she seemed to really have studied them, with categories, hypotheses, and statistics. I suppose that was only natural as she is studying anthropology."

"Er, yeah. Natural," yawned Ron.

"The point is, she showed me how it was the female that controlled the 'approach phase' as she called it. She showed me how different levels of ritualistic cultural display and physical transactions worked on different types of boys. And she had me do, um... practicals."

"I don't think I want to hear anymore," said Ron sharply. Gabrielle could see that he had gotten to his feet.

"Sit down," Hermione said with equal sharpness. "I'm not finished yet." The groan of the sofa meant Ron had obeyed.

"I had always thought that the boys would be doing the, er, selecting. My cousin said that in her experience most boys wait for a sign. Some need a billboard."

"So what does this mean?"

"What it means is that I understand the Lavender Brown thing now, and... " There was another groan from the sofa and an 'oof' from Ron. Gabrielle could hear the sounds of kissing, and Ron's startled response. This, Gabrielle thought, would be the most embarrassing time to be revealed. She was actually surprised to not see Fleur reflected in the clock face.

"Blimey, Hermione," breathed Ron.

"I want to be your girlfriend. We don't have to say anything to the others yet - just spend some time together," suggested Hermione.

"Blimey, Hermione."

Hermione sighed, "You're such an idiot." They went back to kissing.

A movement reflected in the clock face made Gabrielle's heart pound, but it wasn't Fleur. It was just a cat. The cat mewed noisily.

"Yes, all right. We'll be there shortly," said Hermione.

"Be where? What?" asked Ron in confusion.

"Lunch is almost ready." The cat, which was parading back and forth at the end of the sofa, yowled quietly.

"Oh really?" asked Hermione.

"Who are you talking to? Crookshanks?"

"He's very intelligent you know. I never took the time before to notice how different and specific his vocalizations were."

"You're talking to a cat now?"

"What's wrong with Crookshanks? He's very helpful."

"It's like Filch and Mrs. Norris."

"It's not like that at all. _Compunctio!_" Gabrielle felt a sharp pain, like a bee sting, on her leg and she yelped. Gabrielle looked and saw a wand jammed down between the table edge and the sofa.

"Whoever is back there, come out now," commanded Hermione. "_Compunctio!_"

Another stinging sensation got Gabrielle moving. She crawled past the clock and got to her feet, holding her bundle of waffles and rubbing her leg. She gave the cat a sour look, and said to the teens, "Eh, sorry."

Ron laughed loudly, "Hermione, this is the Blond Bludger. Bludger, this is Hermione." Gabrielle glared at Ron, and wished he was a kitchen gadget.

"That isn't nice, Ron," scolded Hermione with a light slap to Ron's head. "You must be Fleur's little sister."

"I am Gabrielle Delacour," stated Gabrielle. Why, Gabrielle wondered, do people say little when younger will do? She would have tried a haughty look like Fleur could do, but that was hard to do while holding waffles after being caught hiding behind furniture.

"Yes, that's right. We met at the second task," recalled Hermione. "Why were you behind the sofa?"

"She was probably hiding from Fred and George," said Ron. "They've been pranking her lately."

"No. Not George and..." started Gabrielle.

"Just Fred then - I think she's sweet on George," interrupted Ron with a smirk. Gabrielle's face flamed red and she gave Ron a look of pure loathing, as well as a sharp kick in the shin. Hermione added a punch to the arm for a sudden expletive from Ron, but she did block another kick from Gabrielle.

"You are such a prat sometimes!" stated Hermione angrily. "Go on into the kitchen, but," she said more calmly, leaning into him, "save me a seat next to you." Ron limped off shaking his head while mumbling how mental girls were.

"So," Hermione began, turning her attention back to Gabrielle. "Why were you back there?"

"I was, eh, resting," replied Gabrielle. She had fallen asleep, so it was not a lie.

"Wouldn't a bed have been more comfortable?"

"I... I did not want to bozzer Ginny." Which was true if one were to rearrange the order a bit. Gabrielle began to fidget.

"Why do you have so many waffles?"

Gabrielle had shifted the bundle behind her back unconsciously, and now brought it forward again. "I did not want to be hungry."

"So you are resting in a concealed spot with enough food to last you the day, but not hiding," mused Hermione. "You should take some water, too, when you are 'resting' like that."

Gabrielle could tell the older witch was teasing her when a she saw a smile play across Hermione's lips. I am amusement for everyone, thought Gabrielle grumpily. She is right about the water, though.

"You said you were not hiding from the twins," continued Hermione. "Who are you hiding from?"

"Bon jour, 'Ermione," called Fleur as she stepped into the room. "Zat eez a nice ward, if not very strong."

All traces of the sudden, annoyed expression on Hermione's face were gone by the time she faced Fleur, "Hello, Fleur. It's nice to see you again."

"Yes. I see you 'ave dragged Gabrielle from 'iding. Good, I was afraid I would need to 'ex 'er."

"Oh, um, not necessary. She was through resting." Hermione cancelled her ward and charm and tucked away her wand.

"Resting?" Fleur laughed, a melodious laugh almost like music that made everyone in the room feel inferior. "All right zen, resting it is. Molly wants to fuss over you, Gabrielle. Come."

"We'll be along in a moment, Fleur. I just want to finish our - private - conversation," said Hermione.

"Yes. You may also want to do somezing wiz your 'air. It eez mussed," mentioned Fleur as she left.

Hermione, slightly pink in the face, turned back to Gabrielle, "Please don't tell anyone what you heard, yet."

"I zought you were dating zat Krump." blurted Gabrielle.

"No, not Viktor Krum, not really, despite what gets written up in the papers. Come on, then." Hermione turned to go to the kitchen, but a series of yowls stopped her. "Yes, that's an excellent idea, Crookshanks." She grinned mischievously at Gabrielle.

"Eh, can you really talk to your cat?" asked Gabrielle as she trailed Hermione.

"Not quite, there's not a lot of shared experience. It's more I listen to him and he listens to me."

"Does zat mean the same as yes?"

"No. It isn't a real conversation because our perspectives are so different; even how we perceive the world is different."

As Hermione continued to lecture on the matter, Gabrielle regretted asking. Hermione used a lot of long words which sounded similar to words Gabrielle knew in her native tongue, but they surely meant something else in English as it still sounded like she talked to her cat. Gabrielle could not see how Hermione could want to date Ron, as all Gabrielle really saw Ron do was eat and hang around with Harry. He never went on like this and he didn't even have a cat.

When they entered the eating area, only Ginny and Harry were seated at the table. Harry was staring at the table, and looked like he was about to explode. Ginny was sitting next to him, bent forward so she could still stare into his face. Hermione stopped just inside the door.

"Perhaps this is not the best time," whispered Hermione, stopping Gabrielle with an outstretched arm. Unfortunately Gabrielle was still working out how you could speak to something, listen to that same thing, and yet still not talk to it. She did not see Hermione's arm blocking the door in time, and was knocked to the ground. Harry and Ginny looked up.

"Hermione!" exulted Harry with a expression of great relief on his face. He made to get up, "Here, let me give you a hand with her."

Ginny yanked him back down. "Oh no you don't, Potter. Do we have a deal or not?" she hissed.

"Er, um. Look... can't we talk about this in private?" mumbled Harry, trying to pull his arm away.

"No. You're stalling." Ginny let go of him and pulled out her wand. "You know, you're not the only one who got a letter from the Ministry..." She aimed her wand just below his mid-section.

"I.. I need time to think. You know, er, pros and cons."

"You've been thinking enough. Yes, no, or reducto?"

Harry looked at her wand, then at Ginny. Then it seemed like he looked at Ginny again, without moving his eyes first. "You will regret it, and I know you are lying. Yes." He stood abruptly and left the table.

"Neville got a letter from the Ministry. I never said I did," called Ginny in a chipper voice. Harry didn't answer as he stomped past Hermione and the once more upright Gabrielle.

"What was that about?" asked Hermione, looking around.

"I wanted him to decide something, and you know how Harry gets when he's made to do something. Even if it's what he wants he still gets his hackles..." Ginny trailed off.

Harry was back at the door, looking sheepish. "Uh. I forgot my wand..."

"You didn't forget, Harry. I took it," offered Ginny. "That was reason number three Mad-Eye doesn't want you to keep it there."

"And just how do you know that?" asked Harry sharply.

Ginny's cool demeanor was betrayed by the tips of her ears, "Oh, he's always, uh, reminded us about that."

Hermione spoke up, "Where does he want you to keep your wand?"

"If you think I'm going to ask Mad-Eye where to stick my wand, you're barmy," answered Harry. "Now give it over, Ginny."

"No. But I'll trade it for a kiss." Ginny dangled the holly wand just out of his reach.

Or, rather, what she thought was his reach. A sudden movement of his arm resulted in Harry holding the wand before Ginny could pull her hand away. Harry turned to leave.

"What about Ginny's kiss?" reminded Gabrielle.

"What? She doesn't deserve a kiss for the way she's been acting," complained Harry.

"But all ze Weasleys like ze kissing," blurted Gabrielle. Too late, she covered her mouth with her hand. Hermione quietly groaned, and covered her face. Ginny used this diversion to slip ahead of Harry and circle his waist with her arms.

"Yeah Harry, and I haven't had any today. Just a quick one will do for now. Please?" wheedled Ginny. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

Harry, eying his audience uncomfortably, reddened as he bent forward to give Ginny a light kiss. He pulled back only slightly before giving her another. Ginny opened her eyes and tightened her grip as they continued. This, Gabrielle suddenly realized, is like living in that WWN show Aunt Laurel is always talking about. Harry was like that healer with the tragic past, and Ginny was the young aide who saw past his flaws and rough manner.

The two teens broke apart when they remembered that they were being watched, although Hermione had moved to the table. Gabrielle had stayed put, though, and was watching with interest.

"Uh, I... need to see, er, Mad-Eye," muttered Harry as he pulled out of the embrace, head down.

"What about lunch?" asked Ginny. "It'll go better if you're not hungry."

"I'll grab something later," called Harry as he slipped out to the hall.

"Zat was very cute." chirped Gabrielle, feeling very pleased.

"I wonder which Weasley you think would like 'ze kissing'?" asked Ginny teasingly.

Gabrielle's smile fell. "Zat is not funny. I was, eh..."

"Pickled, I know. I'm sorry I said that - it isn't funny to you," apologized Ginny. She put her arm around Gabrielle's shoulders and guided her to the table.

"Where's Ron?" asked Hermione. "Where's Fleur, too? I thought it was time for lunch."

Gabrielle wondered if she should point out that the older witch had gotten the information from a cat. Perhaps it had seen a mouse and made the assumption that it was time to eat.

"Oh, Mum will be popping in soon," Ginny whispered. "I know she listens at the door, but she waits a bit for appearances."

"Ginny! That's an awful thing to say," said Hermione. Gabrielle said nothing to this, because she did that too and now had to wonder if Fleur and Maman secretly knew.

"Why is Harry meeting with Professor Moody?" asked Hermione. "Advanced lessons, I suppose."

"I don't know if being thrashed by that nut-case for hours can be considered lessons," replied Ginny. "Harry's learned a few tricks, like disillusionment, but mostly it seems to be lessons in how to get knocked on your arse."

"Ginny! Watch your language. What are the chances the boys took notes?"

"About the same as skrewts needing to hibernate," said Ron as he dropped into the seat next to Hermione. He looked at the table, "Bloody hell! I haven't missed it have I?"

Gabrielle almost laughed at the look on Hermione's face. Ron's new status had inspired him to clean up a bit more. His hair looked freshly washed and combed and he had changed into cleaner clothes with no Chudley Cannon logos.

Hermione closed her mouth, then said, "No Ron, you're just in time."

Mrs. Weasley did poke her head into the eating area at that point, "All right, get started on this. After lunch you lot can help on the wedding mementos." A chorus of groans welled up. She plunked down two trays of sandwiches and beckoned Gabrielle, "Give me a hand in the kitchen, dear."

Once in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley fiddled with a pitcher of pumpkin juice while Gabrielle dried glasses from the sink by hand. "So what happened this morning then?"

"Nozzing. I was, eh, tired."

"Halfway through breakfast you are carted off by Fred and George, and then disappear until lunch. I want to know what they did to you - I told them to stop treating you poorly."

"Zey just brought me to Ginny. I was not hurt." Gabrielle tried to dry the glasses faster, but suspected the sink was magically refilling.

"Ginny came down complaining that Fred was feeding you those blasted candies of theirs."

"It did not bozzer me. I zink he is still mad about ze fork."

"And what of the firewhiskey?"

"Zat was not zeir doing. I know zis." Her stomach rumbled, and she was not embarrassed this time. "Eh, I am very hungry. I did not eat at breakfast..." She tried to look at the door with longing in her eyes.

Mrs. Weasley ignored this. "How do you know? Perhaps it was not intended for you, as I only saw you drinking Bill's tea."

"I can not say. Can I go?"

"You could have been very ill. We might have needed to call Madame Pomfrey again, and your mother. If the twins are behind this you should be protecting yourself, not them."

"George gave me a potion zat helped, and Fred was to give me a potion for my head but he got mad when I, eh, was sick on him. Zey were kind to me."

That declaration derailed the Weasley matriarch. "I... kind, did you say? The twins have been called many things, but I don't believe the term kind as ever been used."

"Zey took good care of me. George did, more zan Fred. May I go, please?" Gabrielle stopped drying glasses - the ones she had stacked up were making their way back into the sink. Gabrielle wondered if she could make her stomach rumble on purpose. She needed to leave the cooking area before Mrs. Weasley remembered the liquor in the tea again.

"Yes dear, get yourself something to eat. I made some soup for you as well," sighed Mrs. Weasley. "I just worry that Fred and George will go too far in their pranks."

Mrs. Weasley turned to get the soup, and Gabrielle moved swiftly back to the table. She did not run - her own experience with Maman backed up Philippe's assertion that running was always suspicious. Move with confidence was Philippe's advice, perhaps as if you are late if need be.

Gabrielle arrived at the table to find Hermione nearly in tears from laughing as Ginny and Ron finished telling her of last night's debacle. Gabrielle's first impulse was to run off again, but she remembered what Ginny had said. So she sat down and took one of the two remaining sandwiches, and tried to look cheerful even as she felt the beginnings of a blush.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to speak. The effort failed when she broke into giggles at the first attempted syllable. A second effort was more successful, "Oh Gabrielle, I can't believe you stabbed the twins! That's just brilliant!"

Ron carefully swallowed his bite of sandwich, and added, "She mightn't have thought that when they set her on fire."

"Fred set me on fire," piped Gabrielle. Ginny and Hermione smiled at each other - Ron snorted. "George told me zat," continued Gabrielle. She reconsidered running off when the teens burst out laughing again.

Mrs. Weasley entered at that point, carrying the promised bowl of soup. She took one look at the sniggering teens and the glum-faced Gabrielle eating silently and became protective, "That's enough of that now. I remind you that Gabrielle is our guest, and she's had a bad morning already." Mrs. Weasley slid the bowl over to Gabrielle. "Any more teasing and that person accompanies me to Fleur's final fitting," she added with a glare.

Gabrielle looked down at the soup to stop herself from laughing out loud at the look of terror on Ron's face. It became less amusing when she wondered if she was expected to go as well. The soup smelled delicious. It was an onion soup, complete with cheese-covered bread island. Gabrielle began eating it with gusto after a demure first taste. She was halfway through the bowl when she felt eyes upon her. "Zee soup is, eh, fantastique," she mumbled by way of excuse.

"You're very sweet dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "But I'm sure your mother would prefer you not to slurp so."

The giggles from the others wilted under Mrs. Weasley's stern expression. Gabrielle responded automatically, "Yes Ma... Mrs. Weasley," and returned to consuming the soup with barely a clink from the spoon as the only sound. Silence descended until Mrs. Weasley left the table through the hall door.

Hermione, casting about for something to say, asked, "Where is this morning's Prophet? I haven't seen it all summer."

Ron answered, "Tonks brings one by most mornings. Must not have gotten to hers yet."

"I thought your family had its own subscription."

"Well, the house is more or less under a Fidelius charm now."

"More or less?" puzzled Hermione.

"Yeah. It's under it, but it wasn't Dumbledore who cast it. And a lot of people know the Burrow's secret already," explained Ginny. "Bill and Mad-Eye don't think it will stop - Him - for long, but they believe we're safe from most others."

"I see," said Hermione, worrying her lip in thought.

"There isn't much in the Prophet anyway," reported Ginny. "They don't talk about muggle deaths anymore, and the murders have almost stopped."

"Is this a Ministry cover-up? Or have the attacks actually stopped?" wondered Hermione.

"Of course they don't tell us much," noted Ron, "but Remus said that the attacks on muggles are still happening, only they're smaller. The Prophet doesn't report them by order of Scrimgeour, according to Dad."

"The murders have stopped, mostly, though," said Ginny. "Even the info from the, um, you know, says that's true. When the Death Eaters attack now, they mostly beat people, or torture them. They haven't been killing anyone."

"And they are leaving muggle-borns alone too," added Ron.

"Oh no! That isn't good at all!" exclaimed Hermione. Ignoring the startled looks, she continued, "It isn't good because it means - He - feels safe and in control. It means He's got enough backing that He doesn't need to destroy His opponents right off - that He can take the time to force them to His side by wearing them down."

"The Minister has been claiming his efforts have weakened the Death Eaters," said Ginny.

"And how likely is that?" demanded Hermione.

"This is an appetite killer," moaned Ron. He set down the last of the sandwiches, which he had been eating.

"Eh... Can I have zat, if you are finished?" asked Gabrielle. She had finished the soup.

"No." Ron picked the sandwich back up and managed to put most of it in his mouth. Hermione cringed. Gabrielle made a face at him, sighed, and pulled out a waffle.

v - v - v - v - v

After lunch Mrs. Weasley brought forth bags of ribbon, tiny pearl-like beads, and piles of boxes. The boxes held picture frames. The ribbons, beads, and frames would be combined physically and magically to create a custom frame, suitable for the wedding photo, that had Fleur's favorite romantic quotes circulating on the glass. Bill's favorite quotes had been deemed vulgar and had been discarded. Gabrielle thought this would upset Mrs. Weasley, but she seemed to think it was for the better as well. "You would think with three millennia of civilization the Egyptians would have something to say without mentioning certain parts of the body," complained Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny and Gabrielle were assigned to the task of attaching the beads and ribbons to the frames, since Ginny was not allowed to use magic and Gabrielle didn't have a wand. They were using small tubes of a muggle glue Mr. Weasley had supplied. Ron and Hermione were learning the series of enchantments to transfer the quotations since they were of age. Hermione was adept at it; Ron was not.

"Oh Ron," groaned Mrs. Weasley. "I said brush your wand along the glass - not stab it straight through." She waved her wand to clear away the shards of the plain glass pane he had been practicing on. "Watch Hermione again, she has it."

"He needs to watch her wand, not just her," whispered Ginny to Gabrielle as they worked. Ginny was attaching the ribbons while Gabrielle glued beads on. There was a crack like apparition as the new practice glass split.

"You are not concentrating," admonished Mrs. Weasley.

"Maybe he's thinking about what Mad-Eye will do to him for being late," called Ginny. Ron looked at her with such an expression of gratitude on his face that Gabrielle laughed. "Hermione will have it done in no time," Ginny added.

Mrs. Weasley sighed, "Well, if Hermione doesn't mind..."

"You owe me one then," Hermione said to Ron.

"Anything," breathed Ron. For a moment Gabrielle thought they would embrace, but then Ron jumped and made for the door. What, Gabrielle wondered, did she see in him?

Once the first few frames were done, Ginny asked, "So, Mum, do you need any help running errands?"

"Ginny, you know I'm not going to take you out. Alastor would have kneazles. I do need to get to the butcher's after we're done here, though, if there is time."

"Oh, you can leave this to us so you won't have to rush later," suggested Ginny.

"Well, lack of deliveries is the worst part of this Fidelius business," sighed Mrs. Weasley. "It would be more convenient to go early..." She looked at Ginny with suspicion though.

Ginny smiled sweetly, "Go on then. Maybe get an extra bit of bacon - you know Harry loves it."

This idea seemed to please Mrs. Weasley, although Gabrielle wondered how much more food she really needed to make in the mornings. Then it occurred to Gabrielle that all the Weasleys ate substantial breakfasts, even Ginny. Ron ate substantially all the time, of course. And they all seemed to be very strong magically - even Ron, based on the amount of damage he could do with simple-looking spells. Gabrielle resolved to try eating a plateful of eggs and bacon instead of just toast in the morning. After a couple of days of this new regime, she could test herself with the kettle.

Once Mrs. Weasley checked that the supplies of beads and ribbons were sufficient, she left the three girls alone.

"So, Hermione, now that we're alone, I wanted to pick your brain a bit," started Ginny.

"Oh?" asked Hermione. She seemed nervous to Gabrielle.

"And it isn't about Ron, so you don't need to worry."

Hermione slumped in her chair. "How did you find out?"

"He sat here and flailed away with a wand and you didn't correct him, and he risked missing lunch to wash," explained Ginny. "I didn't know until you admitted it, but I had a hunch."

"I think you're spending too much time with the twins. Don't think I didn't notice how you sent off your Mum and Ron," countered Hermione.

"Nothing they didn't want to do. I wanted to ask what you know about Veelas, though."

Hermione looked over at Gabrielle, who couldn't decide whether she was going to be insulted by this. Gabrielle decided to become invisible so that they would talk. She feigned intense concentration on the perfect placement of beads.

"I, uh, did do some reading back during the Tri-Wizard tournament," admitted Hermione.

"Do they do a lot of fighting?" asked Ginny.

"You mean the females? No, not much. The Veela male would fight for his territory, though, and to attract mates," answered Hermione. "Veela female would select the strongest male they could, who would have the largest territory. While the full-blooded Veela females could transform, it is believed that this is used mostly to defend themselves from rivals and to protect their young.

"Actually," continued Hermione, warming to the topic, "the instinct to choose the most powerful male for a mate has effectively reduced the number of full-blooded Veela. The male Veela are described as fierce fighters, but they are solitary. The rise of the feudal systems meant that it was the gentry, who could command an army of men, that were powerful and attractive potential mates. Cities began to grow larger then too, and rich was synonymous with powerful. Most full-blooded Veela today come from very remote parts of eastern Europe, near magical reserves."

"Interesting. Full-blooded Veela are magical, right? Fleur has a hair from her grandmother in her wand. Do Veela have their own sort of magic?" wondered Ginny. Suddenly, Gabrielle had a bad feeling about where this was going. Ginny, Gabrielle thought, is going to tell her about the book. This impending disaster is all Fleur's fault; her and her stupid tea.

"It's possible, though there was no mention of it in the reading I did. The children of Veela and wizards can have magic, obviously," noted Hermione with a gesture to Gabrielle.

"Did they mention whether the husbands of Veela were stronger after they were married than before?"

"That's a peculiar question, but no, it didn't say. Certainly a number of notable warlords were married to Veela. You would have to research the particular family history to work that out."

"We're getting ahead of you now, Hermione," said Ginny. The older witch looked at Ginny closely, but then nodded and went back to enchanting the glass.

They worked in silence after that. Ginny appeared lost in thought, Hermione was busy with her wand, and Gabrielle was dreading what she felt was the inevitable revelation that she had the book. Since Ginny's mind seemed to be elsewhere, Gabrielle got ahead in her part of the repetitive task, enough so she had time to wonder what they were doing. There were clearly many more frames that the estimated number of guests. Unless, of course, Fleur had changed plans again. That wouldn't be a surprise to Gabrielle. Changing plans suddenly was a way of showing who was in charge.

Before Gabrielle could frame a question for Ginny, a scurrying movement caught her attention and left her speechless. A trio of garden gnomes were making their way across the open floor from the shadows beneath the sideboard, carrying two gift-wrapped packages. The gnomes, wearing filthy brown clothing but red caps, ducked under the table across from her. I wish I could come to the Weasleys' every summer, thought Gabrielle. This kind of thing never happened at Delacour manor. She bent her head under the table, pretending to pick up a stray bead.

The gnomes were huddled together, and looked like they were all trying to hide behind the same chair leg. The packages next to them were almost half as tall as they were, and were covered in shiny orange and green paper. It looked to Gabrielle like they were trying to work something out, or two of them expected the third to do so.

"Wot ya ken? Is de bigjob or no?" asked one of the gnomes.

"Da hair's yella, thas rit. But Gred, he sez dere be two wi' da yella. We need da small'un." answered the gnome facing his two compatriots.

"Is de small'un den?" asked the first.

"Dunno - I can see on'y dis'un," replied the second.

"I canna say da hair is yella. It'd be more like feverfew wot been dried," noted the third.

"It ain't red, it ain't brown. Tha' leaves yella, ya grit-eating cobber. Now shut ya gob," said the second gnome irritably.

"Joost give de bigjob da stuff. It'd be de small'st yella one 'ere, rit?" suggested the first gnome.

"Now dat be a way, rit? On'y ya be da one to see Forge if'n ya wrong," said the second.

"Can I help you?" asked Gabrielle softly.

As soon as she spoke, the two gnomes that were facing the other scrambled off in a panic knocking the last of their company to the ground and leaving the packages. The remaining gnome jumped back up. "Ya dumb rocks-wid-guts, get back 'ere!" He turned to see not only Gabrielle's face, but Ginny's and Hermione's as well. They had heard the commotion. "Aw crap."

Gabrielle spoke before the others, "I am ze small one, as you say."

"Yeah, all rit. Den dis be yer stuff, rit? Got da paper 'ere too," he reached under his shirt and pulled out a folded and crumpled parchment. Gabrielle made to reach for it, but the gnome tossed it on the ground toward her and jumped back, "Eas' now! Inna cor', see?" He pointed to his cap.

Gabrielle picked up the note and unfolded it. Her name was on it. "Zank you," she said automatically. The parchment was a bit damp and smelled of old socks. She put it in her lap.

"Rit. Job dun, rit? Forge sez I get a bit o' grub fer da trip back, rit," said the remaining gnome, although it was looking at its horrible feet while speaking.

"Eh, what?" Gabrielle had no idea what that meant, and looked blankly at the nervous creature.

"He wants some food," clarified Ginny.

"Inna paper, sez it inna paper," added the gnome.

"Oh." Gabrielle straightened up and took another waffle from her supply. The gnome watched her carefully when she held it out, but didn't approach. Gabrielle slid it over to him.

"Thas de stuff, rit. On'y, I got littl'uns, ya ken."

Gabrielle giggled at this and got another waffle. She was about to slide it over when Hermione said, "Wait."

The gnome picked up the first waffle and looked at Hermione warily, "Dun da job, rit? Far trade, rit."

"I want to ask what the red cap means," said Hermione gently. "No one is going to hurt you."

"'Cept Mum if she gets back too soon," muttered Ginny.

"Mean I'm inna cor' rit. Do jobs fer Gred and Forge. Gard da house, rit?" answered the gnome with a glance at the waffle Gabrielle still held.

"You, er, guard... the house?" asked Hermione.

"I'm a gardin' gnome, ain't I?" Ginny burst out laughing at this, and the gnome jumped again.

"Why are you doing jobs for, er, Gred and Forge?" queried Hermione after shushing Ginny.

"Far trade. Dey worked it out wi' Gutter, rit. Last Long Nigh', rit?" The gnome looked at Gabrielle. "Ya got yer stuff. I'm goin', rit. But no full bellies tonigh'," sighed the gnome.

Gabrielle smiled and slid him the other waffle. The little creature headed off with surprising speed as it managed the waffles under its arms.

"Only the twins could turn an entire species into a bad pun," laughed Ginny. "Guarding gnomes, hah!" Hermione seemed to disapprove of this. Gabrielle picked up the packages and opened the note.

The first part was from George. He wrote that he hoped she felt better, and that he was sorry that he had to leave but there was the shop to run. No mention was made of her clinging to him, and that was okay with Gabrielle. If he wanted to pretend it didn't happen, thought Gabrielle, then I will too. George also wrote that his package contained a, well, something. She did not recognize the word used, but it was supposed to make you belch fire. He wanted to Gabrielle to try it, and record how many belches it caused - he had had three. George suggested patting her stomach after each saying, "Oy that food was spicy!"

The second part of the note was from Fred. He was, he wrote, not sorry about anything, but that she was his favorite Delacour. He had also sent something. It had lasted three hours on him, would she report how long it lasted on her? Gabrielle noticed that Fred didn't say what would happen though. There really was a postscript about giving some food to the brave members of the 2nd Corps of Guarding Gnomes.

She pulled over one of the packages, the one with the 'G' scrawled on it, and opened it. There was a small bottle with red liquid in it.

"What is it?" asked Ginny. She could not see the note from where she was sitting, but it wasn't for a lack of trying, craning her neck and leaning.

"It is from George," replied Gabrielle as levelly as she could. She was very happy to know that the twins weren't totally avoiding her. Gabrielle uncorked the bottle and swallowed the liquid. It burned her throat a little and she almost panicked thinking it might be more firewhiskey, but the flavor was very strong cinnamon.

Ginny's eyes bulged, "And you drank it? Oh Merlin, Gabrielle, that could be anything!"

"It is a pro... to... ,eh, tip," read Gabrielle. This did not seem to help, as the older girls each changed seats to be further away. "I am well," Gabrielle said to reassure them; they were making her nervous. Gabrielle's stomach growled, but she went back to the beading. Ginny and Hermione shook their heads and tried to concentrate on their tasks.

Shortly thereafter, Gabrielle belched. Gabrielle had not really considered the words 'belch fire' in every way and only thought of a brief ball of flame. So it surprised her because it was loud and long, and also accompanied by a three foot whoosh of flame. Ginny startled in surprise, Hermione shrieked, and two of the boxes the frames came in caught fire.

Hermione recovered quickly and doused the flames with a wave of her wand and a muttered incantation. Ginny was wiping up the glue that had splashed on the table with her hand, glaring at Gabrielle. Gabrielle covered her mouth in shock.

"Why the bloody hell did you drink it?" asked Ginny angrily.

"Eh... oy, zat food was spicy?" Gabrielle tried with a smile.

Hermione rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, as if fighting a headache. "Really Gabrielle, you need to have more sense with respect to Fred and George. They aren't always careful about things."

Gabrielle felt another belch coming on, and released it safely toward the ceiling. Hermione sighed and shook her head again. Gabrielle suddenly realized that perhaps she was not coming across as a mature young woman. She was going to explain that the twins had really helped her this morning and that she owed them something, but was distracted by Ginny's distress.

"Bloody sodding damn!" vented Ginny.

"Ginny, please!" exclaimed Hermione. "What's wrong?"

"My hand is glued to the table, that's what's wrong!"

"Stop yanking your arm. You'll only hurt yourself," warned Hermione. "What kind of glue are you using?" She picked up the small, mangled metal tube and started to read. "Er, I don't suppose your Mum has a bottle of acetone?"

"Acetone? I've never heard of that. Mum keeps all of the potion ingredients in a closet in the root cellar, though."

"It's a solvent used in the muggle world. It's a long shot, but I'll take a look." Hermione stood.

"Can't you just use your wand?" pleaded Ginny.

"If I could look up what spell to use, sure. But this stuff soaks into your pores. What if I accidently took your skin off? Besides, it won't take long to look and I'll still have my wand when I get back," reassured Hermione as she left.

"This is all your fault," Ginny said menacingly to Gabrielle.

"I am sorry," apologized Gabrielle reflexively. She didn't really think she was to blame, but she should probably stay on Ginny's good side. She also felt Ginny was over-reacting. She should try having her hand trapped in a waffle-maker, thought Gabrielle.

Ginny looked like she was about to launch into a Fleur-like tirade when Ron and Harry came in. Ginny immediately composed herself and tried to pose her arm nonchalantly, "Hi guys. Done for the day?"

"Just need a break," said Ron. He slouched into a chair and looked grim. Harry sat next to Ginny and looked irritated.

"Moody being a pillock?" asked Ginny.

"No. Mad-Eye is about the same. It's us, Gin," explained Harry. "We're rubbish at this. I can barely get a shield up for the first spell before the second arrives, and Ron can't hold onto his wand."

"Come on, Harry. Moody's been at this for decades. This is only your second session with him. You've held your own in fights before, too." She smoothed the fabric of his sleeve.

"I haven't," said Ron in a disgusted tone.

"That's the thing," Harry began, mirroring Ron's tone. "Decades. I don't want to be doing this for decades. I want it over before that. I want to live my life. I want to go outside and fly. I want to take you out on a date, I..." He stopped himself.

"Well, I accept," smiled Ginny. "You guys just need some cheering up. Keep an eye on Gabrielle - should be good for a laugh."

"Why? Is she going to turn into a flamingo? Or a fruit bat?" Harry and Ron turned to face Gabrielle and watched expectantly.

Gabrielle felt a bit self-conscious from the attention, but smiled and waved a greeting. She wondered if she should tell the boys about the gnomes. It was uncomfortable to have people staring at you in silence. Happily, it didn't take too long before she leaned forward a bit and tilted her head up to belch. "Oy, zat food was spicy," she added after the jet of flame cleared. Harry and Ron looked at her with their mouths open in surprise, then they exploded with laughter.

"That would put even Seamus to shame," gasped Harry.

"Ye... hah, yeah," was all Ron could manage.

Ginny seemed pleased by the results. Gabrielle couldn't imagine it was funny enough for the theatrics from Harry and Ron, and guessed that it had more to do with their earlier frustrations. That was apparently forgotten as she answered their questions about the source, and they started handicapping their schoolmates for some future belching tournament.

Hermione returned, carrying two bottles. She set them on the table, and listened disapprovingly to Harry and Ron laugh over plans to make Gabrielle belch again. "It's hard to imagine they would be seventh years, isn't it?"

"They're just blowing off a bit of steam," said Ginny. "Mad-Eye must be running them ragged. Er, you didn't find a bottle of that icy-tone, did you?" She asked the last part very quietly.

"No, but I did find a bottle of Mother Botts' Every-Spot Remover, and a bottle with 'unsticking' on the label - though I couldn't read most of it because of the smudging. Oddly, I couldn't get the stopper out, which really doesn't bode well for..." explained Hermione.

"Later," Ginny interrupted. "Later, Hermione, please," she added in almost a whisper. Hermione smirked at her friend, but set the bottles aside.

Gabrielle was wondering how long Ginny would be able to hide the fact she had glued her hand to the table. It did not look exactly natural to have one arm frozen in place. Was she, thought Gabrielle, hiding it from Harry or Ron? She glued a few more beads while contemplating this. Gabrielle felt that if she had a boyfriend she would expect him to help, or make her feel better.

But perhaps this was optimistic, thought Gabrielle. Harry and Ron had moved to the seats on either side of her, completely ignoring their girlfriends. If she had been Fleur she would not have been surprised, but she was not Fleur.

"Can you do it again?" asked Harry. "I want to see if you can melt a knut."

"Eh, I zink zere will be only zeree," answered Gabrielle. Of the imagined conversations with Harry Potter she had had, this topic had never come up. Maman would be very disappointed.

"I'll bet we can get one more out of you," asserted Ron, with a nod at Harry.

"No. George wrote zat zere... aah!" Gabrielle squealed out the last bit as both boys shook her back and forth. It wasn't violent, but it was enough that the beads she was holding and the glue went flying. Gabrielle barely kept the frame from falling to the floor.

"STOP IT! There'll be no more of that!" shouted Hermione in her prefect voice. Harry and Ron released Gabrielle instantly, and began muttering hurried apologies. Gabrielle didn't pay much attention to them. First, it had worked, and she released another spout of flame. Second, in saving the frame from hitting the floor she had ending up gluing her fingers and the frame together. She stared at the frame dangling from her fingers.

"I didn't have the knut ready," lamented Harry, drawing a snort from Ron.

"I am stuck also!" exclaimed Gabrielle.

"It can't have dried already," suggested Ron, and he pulled at the frame roughly, which pulled Gabrielle yelling after it.

"Don't, Ron! It's a special muggle glue. It does dry instantly," informed Hermione. "You'll pull her skin off." Ron released the frame and Gabrielle once more wished she could take a chip out of him, like the toaster.

"So how does it unstick? A well aimed severing hex?" asked Ron. He pulled out his wand; Gabrielle hurried over to Hermione.

"No! It normally uses a muggle solvent, but I found these in your Mum's potions store. I was going to try them for, um, clean-up," lied Hermione. "Let's give the Every-Spot Remover a try first."

The laundry product did work, although it was very slow going and tarnished the frame where Hermione's cloth touched it. Gabrielle was just happy to see that her skin stayed on. Fleur would be upset over the frame, but the tarnished areas were small and if they could be polished up she might not notice.

Ron was holding the little tube of glue Gabrielle had been using, "Crazy stuff. Hey Harry!"

"What?" Harry had been trying to buff up the damaged frame with his sleeve.

Ron dripped some glue onto his wand, then grabbed it, "Try and disarm me now."

"Okay... _Expelliarmus!_" barked Harry. Ron's arm jerked out and he yelped, but he still held his wand.

"Ron!" scolded Hermione, "You don't know what might have happened - it could have taken your hand off."

"Zee healers can fix zat," blurted Gabrielle. When everyone turned to look at her, she added, "I, eh, have, eh, heard zat."

"Let's head back upstairs and kick Moody's arse this time. He always disarms me and then hits you twice. I'll catch him off his guard with a blasting curse and then you flatten him," plotted Ron.

"Yeah, all right. Wait for me in the hall," agreed Harry. As Ron left he discovered a drawback to his plan - he almost snapped his wand reaching for the door knob.

Harry came over to Ginny and pecked her cheek, "Wish me luck?"

"Sure Harry. Don't hurt him too much," replied Ginny. As she spoke Harry reached around her and covered her stuck hand with his, and pulled gently.

"Knew it." He beat a hasty retreat when Ginny aimed a slap at him.

"Cheeky bastard," Ginny called after him as he left.


	5. Demon Breath

Chapter Five - Demon Breath

After the boys left, Hermione began the slow process of unsticking Ginny's hand. Gabrielle finished with the beads, except for the damaged frame, and took over attaching the ribbons. The ribbons were more difficult to stick on neatly. Another belch rumbled out from her, but the flame was barely a foot long.

"What do you know about rituals, Hermione?" asked Ginny while she wedged more of the spot-remover soaked towel under her stuck hand.

"What sort of rituals are you talking about? It's a term with a broad definition," responded Hermione.

"I was thinking of magic ones - you know, candles and pentagrams and chanting. That sort." Here it comes, thought Gabrielle.

Hermione looked somewhat indignant. "You do recall the information covered in the History of Magic, first year, right?"

"No Hermione. In my first year I was in no shape to stay awake through Binns' class," said Ginny coldly.

Hermione paled. "I didn't... I'm sorry Ginny. Stupid of me to forget."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I suppose I should be glad it can be forgotten," sighed Ginny. But she had bent her head forward so that a curtain of red hair hid her face.

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. Gabrielle had no idea what this was about, but had managed to stop herself from immediately asking the question that was on the tip of her tongue. Ginny might still be mad at her from before. The frames were almost done, at least from the ribbon and bead perspective. Hermione went back to enchanting the glass.

While the older girls' attention was elsewhere, Gabrielle pulled the remaining package into her lap. She unwrapped it as quietly as she could, and revealed a small box containing what looked like four pieces of licorice and a fabric patch. The patch was a hideously garish affair bearing the logo of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. It was about the ugliest design she had ever seen, but she felt oddly proud to have received it. Gabrielle, after the previous uproar, wasn't planning on using what Fred had sent. Especially since he had not specified the effect. She had just been curious as to the contents of the package. But now she felt like she would be letting George down. And Fred. So she bent down to pick up a stray ribbon from the floor, and popped one of the pieces in her mouth.

It was licorice, or at least tasted like it. There were no other flavors, and nothing happened. If Harry was here she might have asked him if the candies seemed different. She went back to the last of the frames.

Hermione cleared her throat and lectured, "So, rituals. Back before the major wand-making families began producing wands for sale, most wizards and witches crafted their own wands or staffs. These allowed a more directed form of magic, and now with the ready availability of higher quality instruments, is almost the only form of magic wizards know today. But in early times, when the wands were generally weak, rituals allowed the most powerful magic to be performed. They are part of what's called Old Magic."

At first, Gabrielle wasn't sure Ginny was going to respond. But then she asked, "Why aren't rituals used these days?"

"Well, for one thing, they are pretty complicated and take time to cast. The pentagram and candles are very common elements, but some require more rare items - hairs, roots, or essences. And sometimes the right day or time is needed, or the right intent, or even multiple wizards. Blood is often used too, which usually means questionable magic. In addition, rituals don't provide the direct action that wand work provides. Most rituals are 'may good things happen to us' or 'may bad things happen to them' sorts of things. The goblin rebellion in 1647 was, legend as it, stopped by a three day ritual done by seven witches and seven wizards during the full moon. This is supposed to have caused a huge forest fire a day later, which trapped and destroyed the massed goblin army. It also burned the three magical villages that were under siege to the ground. So a ritual may or may not work right away, and its effect will take unknown shape."

"I see. But they did work?"

"The lack of direct action is the problem. Unless something truly unusual happens, it would be hard to say if it was a bit of good or bad luck or the ritual that was performed the prior week by the other village's witch." Hermione tilted her head and considered Ginny. "What rituals are you planning on doing?"

"I'm not," Ginny said quickly. "I was just doing a bit of reading - thought maybe it would be something that would help the Or.., help."

"You're not as subtle as you believe, Ginny," asserted Hermione. "Do Veelas have their own kind of magic? Do rituals work? And Gabrielle here when you asked both, so she's in on the secret, further connecting the two."

"Really, Hermione, I think you're letting yourself run away here."

"Oh?" Hermione turned to Gabrielle. "What has she found?" she asked sharply, using her 'obey me firstie' voice.

Gabrielle immediately looked down, "I do not know." It was kind of true, since Gabrielle had given Ginny the book it shouldn't count as finding it. This utterance produced a thick cloud of black smoke, smelling slightly of rotten eggs, from her mouth. Gabrielle clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh Gabrielle, now what have you done?" asked Hermione in that exasperated tone that she normally associated with Fleur.

Ginny began to giggle, then laugh. "Don't you remember Hermione? There were two gifts," she managed between peals of laughter. Hermione just stared at Gabrielle.

"Eh, I am..." started Gabrielle. She waved her hands to disperse the smoke. I am, thought Gabrielle, what? Sorry wasn't the word she wanted. In fact, she was not sorry at all - it was just a silly prank. "I am not sorry," she declared, and smiled.

Ginny was writhing in hysterics, though still tethered to the table. Hermione was now fighting to maintain her stern expression, "You may decide differently once you've seen your teeth."

Gabrielle looked at her reflection in one of the frames, and cringed. Her teeth were as black as dried squid ichor. "It is, eh, not zat bad," Gabrielle said bravely.

Hermione looked past Gabrielle. "Oh, hello again Fleur." Gabrielle went ashen, and buried her face in her arms. This time it was Hermione who laughed, "Just teasing, Gabrielle."

"That was really mean," said Ginny wiping her eyes. "But funny."

"I did not zink it was funny," griped Gabrielle. She disappeared behind the smoke from her mouth, reappearing with a few flaps of a box top. A new round of laughing ensued.

"No, you wouldn't," said Hermione. "But what will you do when Fleur does show up? You didn't think of that, did you?" She gathered up her wand again, "Let's just finish up here before anything else happens."

Hermione, thought Gabrielle, is a bit of a wet blanket. Gabrielle had not thought about Fleur, or what Fleur might say. Might tell, thought Gabrielle, that's the real worry. She might look ridiculous with smoke coming out of her mouth every time she spoke, but she was not hurt or hurting anyone. If the Wheeze lasted three hours, she would be fine by dinner. She could hide until then, especially since Fleur and Bill rarely returned before then. But then she had belched five flames, instead of George's three. What if this smoke thing lasted five hours instead of three? Mrs. Weasley would surely have Fleur find me, Gabrielle thought. Gabrielle asked, "Can you stop ze smoke, if it is not done by dinner?"

"I wouldn't try that," spoke up Ginny. "The twins are very proud of making sure every attempt to stop a prank backfires."

Hermione finished the last glass. "Ginny, does your Mum have any spellbooks with the common household spells in them? I want to fix that last frame and, er," she looked towards Gabrielle, "freshen the air a bit." Gabrielle reddened.

With a brief grimace, Ginny pulled her hand free. "Finally!" she celebrated. "I don't know what Ron is going to do. Mum has her books in the cabinet over the stove."

When Hermione stepped out, Ginny turned to Gabrielle, "You might try to wear out the Wheeze by talking more. Just do it by a window."

"Or the hearth - that way it won't look like the house is on fire." called Hermione from the kitchen proper.

"No singing, though," warned Ginny. Gabrielle blinked at her.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle lay on her stomach, in front of the sitting room's hearth, reading out loud from Fleur's first year Charms textbook. A magically generated breeze was drawing the black smoke up the chimney. Hermione and Ginny were still at the table, trying to find a spell that would release the muggle glue. The suspicions over the rituals were apparently forgotten.

Barely four pages into what was possibly the dullest introduction ever written, Gabrielle was distracted by the tinkling of the ceramic jar of Floo powder on the mantle and the rattle of the paintings on the wall. She looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps it is a small poltergeist, thought Gabrielle. A house with a ghoul in the attic might have one. Then she heard a slam and thunder on the stairs.

"Mrs. Weasley! Ginny! Hermione!" Harry shouted, coming down the steps two at a time.

"What's happened?" answered Ginny anxiously. "Mum's not here."

"Moody's hurt. He cracked his head really hard. Hermione, can you find a medical spellbook? Ginny, do you know the Floo password?" Harry said breathlessly.

Hermione dashed back into the kitchen to go through the books again. Harry and Ginny entered the sitting room. Gabrielle scrambled out of the way.

"_Incendio!_" called Harry to light the fire in the hearth. The fireball overflowed the hearth and nearly made it to the ceiling.

"Calm down, Harry. He'll be fine," soothed Ginny. "Just take a pinch and throw it in, then say 'demon's breath' and the place you're calling."

"Demon's breath?" repeated Harry.

"I don't know - Fred set it up."

Harry threw in the powder and was soon speaking to Madame Pomfrey. Gabrielle couldn't follow the details too well as Harry was speaking quickly and had his head in the floo, but the auror was bleeding a lot and wasn't moving. Hermione joined them, summoned a small white stick, and then used it to write down Madame Pomfrey's orders.

Once the Floo connection was broken, the three hurried from the room and took the stairs at a run. Gabrielle, who had been completely ignored, was alone in the sitting room once more. She tried to decide what to do. Laying back down and reading as if nothing was happening seemed useless. On the other hand, the last thing she wanted to be was in the way. It wasn't like she had no experience in medical emergencies, though. After all, she had been in several herself.

Gabrielle settled on getting a better vantage point, and climbed to the second floor landing. She could see the entrance hall, and could hear Hermione giving orders.

Mrs. Weasley arrived at this point, leading a flotilla of hovering bundles of various sizes, all wrapped up in brown paper.

"Mrs. Weasley!" called Gabrielle. "Monsieur Moody, he is hurt!"

"What? Where is he? What's been done?" The packages dropped to the floor, and Mrs. Weasley came to the bottom of the stairs.

"Harry called Madame Pomfrey; zey are upstairs." Gabrielle pointed. Mrs. Weasley stared at the smoke which now hid Gabrielle from view, then shook herself.

"Be a dear and tuck those into the icebox - remember to close the door between packages. I'll just check on them. Er, you are all right?" asked the Weasley matron coming up the stairs.

"Zee smoke is, eh, not so bad," replied Gabrielle, flapping her arms so she could see who she was talking to. She headed down as Mrs. Weasley, shaking her head, hurried up the stairs. At least, thought Gabrielle, I will be of some help.

Madame Pomfrey arrived while Gabrielle was still fitting the bundles into cold storage. Gabrielle couldn't see how they would all fit at first. She had stuffed two of the bundles in, and thought she could see where one of the flatter bundles, which must be the bacon, could fit. There was no more space to her eyes. When she opened the door to put the bacon in, though, there was another obvious spot for a bigger package. Then she remembered - she was supposed to close the door after each of the wrapped items was put in. That would, Gabrielle realized now, magically make space for just a little more. She set the task aside to let the Hogwarts healer in.

"Bon jour, Madame Pomfrey. Zey are up ze stairs," greeted Gabrielle, producing a great inky cloud. "Eh, I am sorry about ze smoke."

"Hello, ah, Gabrielle, is it? You have recovered nicely," said Madame Pomfrey, striding to the stairs with her large bag. She headed up the stairs without a glance back.

Gabrielle returned to the kitchen to finish her task, which was much easier as there was always a place to put things now. When she was done, she began hunting around for a different kettle, so she could make tea.

v - v - v - v - v

Shortly after Madame Pomfrey arrived, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny came back down and sat around the kitchen table. Gabrielle passed around the mugs of tea, which the others took automatically but didn't drink. Ron, she noticed, still had his wand glued to his hand. Hermione, sitting next to Ron, was very pale. Gabrielle didn't sit at the table, but sat on the floor beside the sideboard. She would be invisible there.

"That," declared Harry glumly, "was a bloody disaster."

"Madame Pomfrey says he'll be all right," reassured Ginny.

"Yeah, but she took him to St. Mungo's by port-key, didn't she?" reminded Harry. "If it wasn't bad, wouldn't she have taken him to Hogwarts?"

"'S all my fault," moaned Ron. "I wanted to beat him so bad I forgot it was just practice."

"What happened then?" asked Ginny.

"It wasn't Ron's fault. It was an accident," explained Harry. "I summoned the table behind him and tripped him up just when Ron fired a blasting curse at him. The blast kind of got under his shield and flipped him over the table and into the wall."

"Are you all right, Hermione?" asked Ron softly.

"There was just so much blood," murmured Hermione, shaking her head.

"I'm sure he's had worse," said Ginny brightly.

"Not now, Gin, I..." Harry began, then was distracted by Ron. Ron had gotten up and moved to the other side of Hermione, throwing his arm that didn't have fourteen inches of willow stuck to it around her shoulders. Hermione leaned into Ron slightly.

"Uh, I... um, I think we're all in a bit of a shock, still," Harry continued, regaining his train of thought.

"More ways than one?" whispered Ginny, leaning close to Harry.

"Huh?"

"Never mind Harry. What are you going to do now?"

"We planned on going up to Hogwarts tomorrow. I guess that's still the plan if we can get an escort," replied Harry.

"Hogwarts? Why there?" asked Hermione. She was still pale but her voice was stronger.

"I'm going after that book," said Harry. He jaw was set as if he expected a challenge.

Hermione provided it, "Harry, no! That book has been nothing but trouble for you. Just leave it where it is."

"No, Hermione. I did a lot of thinking about this. I realized I spend the summer in hiding, doing nothing. I'm tired of it. I'm the one who wrote the Minister for the age waiver in exchange for letting him say I was working with the aurors. The Or..., uh, er, our mutual friends work hard to hide and gather information. But they don't take much action, while Voldemort does act," fumed Harry. He glanced at Ron, "We think it's time to disrupt things a bit. And that book I know has one thing I need, and I'm betting it has a second."

"I know you are angry and frustrated Harry, but perhaps you should at least run your plans by someone more, er, detached," pleaded Hermione. She hunched down slightly, as if expecting a blow.

Harry calmed and smiled at her, "That's what I'm counting on from you. We can explain more - later." He looked at Ginny.

"I know Harry. I promised, and it's killing me already," muttered Ginny.

They fell silent until Ron untangled himself from Hermione, and gulped some of his tea. "Urg, this tea is ruddy awful," he said making a face.

"Then make it yourself next time," ordered Ginny.

"Er, it is, um, pretty bad, Gin," noted Harry after a cautious sip.

"I'm sure it's fine." She took up her mug and sipped, and her face puckered immediately.

"You can finish mine when you're done enjoying that," smirked Ron. He slid his mug over to her. Gabrielle was perplexed - how can the tea be bad? She had put a spoonful of leaves in for each mug, and 'one for the pot', and then boiled them for three minutes. Gabrielle was pretty sure that's the way Mrs. Weasley did it.

"All right, I'll make some more. Hermione looks like she could use some," said Ginny standing up.

"I'll be all right. It was just a bit much all at once," said Hermione.

"You were brilliant in the pinch, though," said Ron proudly.

"Come on, Gabrielle. You can help me," suggested Ginny. The others turned to look at Gabrielle when she stood, as if surprised to see her. They had clearly forgotten she was in the room. Gabrielle took the remaining mugs and followed Ginny into the kitchen proper.

Once the door was closed, Ginny turned to Gabrielle.

"I am sorry about ze tea, I don't know why it is bad," apologized Gabrielle, in the process generating a great deal of smoke.

"Forget that," whispered Ginny. "If they are going to Hogwarts tomorrow, then I need to do it tonight. You said you could get me Harry's cloak."

"Eh... I did?"

"Yes, you did. It was right before I had to break up you and George. Surely you remember that?"

"Oui," acknowledged Gabrielle. That was something she wasn't planning on forgetting, and even now the scent of him was conjured up in her memory. She didn't plan on telling anyone else about that scene, though. "I was, eh, not, eh, okay in my head, when I said zat. You know zis."

Ginny waved off the smoke, "Blasted twins! Well, I'm counting on you anyway - it may be a matter of life or death - so you better make it a good run at the hoops. Or I'll have to talk to Mum about it..."

Well, Gabrielle thought, there it is. She was expecting the threat of exposure in some form. She wondered if Ginny really liked her or not. Philippe had shown Gabrielle how to open many locked doors, but she had only done the ones at home herself. Gabrielle knew the doors at Delacour manor well. She had not really examined the doors at the Burrow at all. Fleur's stupid tea was behind the bragging, thought Gabrielle. If she told this to Ginny now, though, the older girl was sure to become angry. "It, eh, may take some time," cautioned Gabrielle.

"I'll distract Harry before dinner, then you can do it," planned Ginny.

"How will you distract him?"

"How do you think I'm going to distract him?" grinned Ginny. "That's the easy part. Now, let's get the tea sorted - where's the kettle?"

"Here," said Gabrielle, handing it to Ginny. "It is ze old one."

Ginny started to fill the kettle with fresh water when a wet mass at the bottom floated up. "Did you put the tea leaves in the kettle, and then boil it? No wonder it was atrocious. You should put the tea in the teapot, then pour the water from the kettle over it."

Gabrielle didn't answer Ginny. She didn't care much about the proper way to make tea. She was busy listing in her head all the ways this task of hers could go horribly wrong. She was sure to lose her spot at Beauxbatons over it if Maman found out. If, that is, it wasn't already gone from the morning's disaster.

Ginny waved her hand in front of Gabrielle's face, "I said, can you get the tray? I'll find the biscuits."

Gabrielle blinked at her, and had to wonder why Ginny didn't seem more concerned with the possibly horrid outcomes for her plan. She wandered off to find the tray, and considered that the great confidence she had admired in Ginny might actually be a sign that the older girl had lost her senses too. First her Grandmere, then Fleur and Mrs. Weasley, and now Ginny. This was worrisome if it was spreading.

Ginny waved her over, whispering again, "See those widened gaps just past the hinges? That lets Mum listen in to what's going on at the table. Shh. You can just make out what they're saying."

And Gabrielle could, although little made sense to her.

"Don't you think it might possibly be cursed or jinxed though?" This was from Hermione. It seemed like she didn't need the tea to recover. "Perhaps the more you read, the more it, um, it..."

"No, Hermione. I don't think it is cursed," interrupted Harry. "It's just a textbook with extra notes, once owned by a murdering bastard who was born that way. You know I would never have equalled you in potions without the changes made in the brewing instructions. I need that potion to be perfect."

"Why not just kill the little ferret outright?" suggested Ron.

"Ron! Harry's not like that," huffed Hermione.

"Maybe, but the thing is, Ron, the thing is Draco didn't do it," answered Harry. "Snape did it to protect Malfoy. If I get Malfoy, I'll have a hold over Snape."

Ginny, Gabrielle thought, must understand what this means, as her mouth hung agape. "Who are zey talking..."

"Shh!" shushed Ginny.

"... see why you want to give him anything," complained Ron. "The Black estate is rightfully yours."

"I don't really want it. I've had almost nothing my whole life anyway, and I certainly don't want an old house reeking of dark, evil things," said Harry. "Besides, it makes excellent motivation for Kreacher."

"I don't need the book, Harry. There are bound to be other references, and maybe Remus can help." asserted Hermione.

"No! I don't plan on letting the Order know." declared Harry. This brought a gasp from Ginny as well as Hermione. "It's not that I don't trust the Order, it's just that I don't want them to stop what they're doing. Besides, I'm betting that there's a few secrets to occlumency in the book too. I need that."

"What did you tell Moody then?" asked Hermione.

"Not this. I told him I knew where..."

The rest of Harry's answer was drowned out by the whistle of the kettle. Ginny, cursing under her breath, moved to turn it off. She poured the water into the teapot, and came back by the door. The conversation at the table was over. "They're expecting us," sighed Ginny. "Let's go."

v - v - v - v - v

They brought out the fresh tea. Ron praised it long and loud, and Gabrielle moved him in front of Fleur on the list of people she would set fire to. There was no more talk of Hogwarts or mysterious books, and even speculation on the injured auror ended. The mood at the table sank.

Mrs. Weasley came in. She had cleaned up the mess upstairs after seeing Madame Pomfrey and her patient off, and had been able to contact the healer again. She reported that Moody had been admitted to St. Mungo's, but was going to be fine. The fact he was being somewhat difficult about potions meant it would be about a week to fully recover.

Gabrielle, who had remained silent in order to hide the effect of the candy, momentarily forgot when she also wished the creepy auror well. It broke the somber mood, as Ron and Harry couldn't contain their laughter. Mrs. Weasley became agitated again, and she dragged Gabrielle into the kitchen, using cleaning up as an excuse, for another lecture on using sense and the twins.

When Mrs. Weasley had finished voicing her concern that Fred and George were a potential menace to everyone around them, an opinion Gabrielle just could not comprehend, they returned to hear the teens recounting the fire-belching incident. The disappointment Gabrielle saw in Mrs. Weasley's eyes actually hurt, and Gabrielle began to feel a little peeved that Mrs. Weasley had such a low regard for George and Fred. Gabrielle took it out on Ron, though, by asking earnestly from behind her cloud of inky black whether or not he had unglued his hand from his wand. Gabrielle noticed he had kept his hand under the table once his mother had arrived.

So Gabrielle was re-installed in front of the sitting room hearth, reading the textbook. The smoke, which so far showed no sign of letting up, was wafted up the chimney by a new breeze by Mrs. Weasley. The reading, once past the introduction, had become more interesting. And if she did tire of it, she just had to listen to the yelps, howls, and shouts from Ron as his mother and his girlfriend experimented with spells to free his hand to refresh her. Gabrielle suspected she would regret her actions at some point, but right now it was a lot of fun. She giggled at the lambasting Ron received after every howled expletive which went on for quite a while, until she heard Mrs. Weasley finally announce, "There, that's done it."

It was almost as much fun listening to him whimper, trying to get sympathy and, she supposed, another kiss from Hermione. It sounded to Gabrielle like it had worked at least once, before Hermione made a comment on how she always fancied the strong, silent types.

The fun ended, as was often the case for Gabrielle, when Fleur arrived. Gabrielle hadn't heard Fleur, with Bill in tow, come in. She had just read the section on bluebell flames. Those sounded exactly like what she needed, and she was practicing the incantation and pretending to wave a wand.

"(What's this? Practicing your role as class clown?)" snapped Fleur, surprising Gabrielle.

"(Huh? Oh! Hello, Fleur. Hello, Bill.)" said Gabrielle from the floor. "(The, eh, smoke is from a new candy from Fred.)"

"And here we thought Mum was burning dinner," laughed Bill.

"(Are you so very stupid that you fell for one of Fred's tricks again?)" mocked Fleur. "(Your teeth are disgusting and the smoke smells like a goblin's flatulence.)"

Gabrielle's face tightened. "(No, I didn't fall for a trick. Fred asked me to try it. I wanted to see what it did.)"

Fleur reddened in anger. "(What it does is make you look like a fool!)"

"Calm down, my flower. There's no real harm done - pranks are a part of higher education," soothed Bill. Fleur huffed, swinging around in a twirl of silvery blond hair, but she didn't say anything more. Bill rolled his eyes for Gabrielle, "She is just trying to fit in - be a part of the family."

"(She should try to fit in to her own family,)" said Fleur severely.

"She will, she will," replied Bill soothingly as he guided Fleur away. "Perhaps she is a late bloomer?"

Gabrielle thought, late bloomer? I have never had a chance to bloom! I am not a little girl anymore yet, railed Gabrielle in her head, I am always treated as one. I can not be Fleur. I don't want to be Fleur. Surely the Delacour family is not so large that it can't have another person in it?

v - v - v - v - v

After Fleur left, Gabrielle was too wound up to enjoy the reading. She paged through the book, searching for horrible sounding spells she could imagine using on Fleur. Anyway, Gabrielle thought, talking more does not seem to be helping. Certainly it must be more than the three hours by now.

Ginny's face appeared in the doorway, and she beckoned Gabrielle over, "Mum is starting to make dinner. Now is the time to do it. Get going - I'll keep Harry in here."

"I don't zink I know ze room he is in," said Gabrielle.

Ginny held up four fingers, "He's on the fourth landing, on the right. Bill is on the left, so be careful."

Gabrielle started up the stairs, each step increasing the feeling of impending doom. She would have to get the small pouch of tools Philippe had given her from her trunk first. Gabrielle had not planned on using them. It was just that her Maman had a habit of throwing away the small number of muggle things Gabrielle had if she came across them. And, thought Gabrielle bitterly, Maman worked pretty hard at coming across them. It was why Gabrielle always carried the knife from Gaston with her, using the muggle, springy-pin thing to attach it to her if she had no pockets.

The little pouch was found where she packed it, inside a larger velvet pouch with her collection of necklaces and bracelets. It contained various bent pieces of wire - specially bent, Philippe would say. He had names for each one, but Gabrielle was fuzzy about that, which tended to upset Philippe.

Standing outside Harry's door, she listened carefully. There didn't seem to be any movement in this part of the house. Harry's door opened inward, she noticed, so the hinges were not on this side of the door. The hinge trick always worked, unless the door was really heavy. She also tried to open it, but it was indeed locked. Nothing is more embarrassing than trying to unlock an unlocked door. It was then that Gabrielle noticed a problem: the lock looked very different from the ones at Delacour manor. Nothing to do now, thought Gabrielle, but to wait for catastrophe. She selected a couple of bent - specially bent she laughed to herself - wires from the pouch and moved to the lock.

After fifteen minutes of poking, probing, and prodding, Gabrielle was beginning to feel optimistic. The lock was different than the ones at home, but not that different. She felt that if she just had the right specially bent bit of wire, she could manage it. If, of course, she had any wire to bend, and had paid closer attention to how Philippe bent them.

It came to Gabrielle that she could bend the end of the wire she usually held, which at least solved one of the problems. Hopefully Ginny would be able to keep Harry away; this would take a long time. She really wasn't sure how long you could keep kissing the same person over and over.

Gabrielle unfolded the knife from Gaston into pliers, put a bend in the wire, and tried in the lock.

"Told you we should keep an eye on her," said George. "Excellent potential."

"You were right, dear brother. I must say I am speechless at finding another aficionado of the finer muggle arts, though," noted Fred.

Gabrielle cried out in surprise and spun around. She kept her hands behind her, though, to try and extract the wires from the lock. Gabrielle faced the twins, who stood less than an arm's length away. She had not heard them approach.

"'Course that would be figuratively so," added George.

"Whatcha doing, Beebee?" asked Fred casually, though the tone said he already knew.

"Nozzing!" blurted Gabrielle. "I, I, I was, eh, looking for Harry." The dark smoke from her speaking hung in the air; Gabrielle used this diversion to pull the wires from the door. One was slid into her sleeve. The other she fumbled to the floor.

"I believe you owe me five galleons, brother," George said with a laugh as Fred stared in surprise. "I'm a dab hand at people. Now, luv, Harry's a little too big to hide in a keyhole. And if he was you would have done him an injury with that pick. Did I mention that Harry's our main benefactor, and that we really like him? What's your game?"

"Nozzing," Gabrielle tried again. She shifted her foot to cover the fallen pick. "I, I am... eh..."

"A terrible liar. We know." mocked Fred. He waved off the smoke.

"Yes," agreed George. "But the move to hide the evidence was almost smooth." The twins looked at her expectantly.

Gabrielle knew this would happen. She had expected it, and was kicking herself mentally for not having a cover story. Anything she came up with now would sound like a lie, even the truth. The truth would also ruin Ginny's plan, although how much loyalty she really owed Ginny was not clear. Gabrielle wondered if George and Fred would inform Mrs. Weasley or Fleur. Probably, thought Gabrielle, not to get her in trouble but they would tell the story for laughs. Fleur would report this to Maman, and Maman would convince Papa that she shouldn't go to Beauxbatons. All she had to do was stay out of trouble, and she had not made it a single day. Her eyes started to prickle, and she had her plan. Gabrielle fixed a vision of her friends leaving for school while she was to be taught by Aunt Laurel, and cried.

Once the tears started to roll down her cheeks, the effect on the twins was instantaneous. George's smirk vanished into a look of concern. Fred's expression went to exasperation, and he rolled his eyes.

"I don't think that is going to work, Beebee. At least not on me," warned Fred, but he was looking at George.

"What?" asked George. "It's just occurred to me that we wouldn't want to nip a prank career in the bud. Bad for business, really."

"Yes, there is that," Fred said slowly. "But now's a good time for an important lesson in pranking: silence costs."

"Steady there, Fred," said George sharply. "She's been a good sport." The twins exchanged looks - Fred's challenging look was countered by George's dangerous one. An uneasy silence followed, and Gabrielle wondered if they could read each other's mind. Philippe had told her that some muggles believed that twins could do that, and that they would feel each other's pain. She dried her eyes.

Something had obviously been decided though, and Fred's raised eyebrow was the only signal. George barely nodded in return. I am to be set on fire again, thought Gabrielle in annoyance. She wished there was a little more space in the hallway so she could make a run for it.

"Double or naught?" asked George.

"Yeah, all right," answered Fred after a moments thought. "Now Beebee, when did..."

"What is zis Beebee?" interrupted Gabrielle with a cloud of dark smoke. "My name is Gabrielle."

"I like to think of you as the Blond Bludger, but those studying politeness feel it's a bit rude. When did you eat the Wheeze?"

"About an hour after lunch, I zink."

"An hour after lunch? That's, what, half again as long as it should be," wondered Fred. "What the hell is wrong with the formula?"

"I like the effect," said George. "But you need to dilute it more or use a different binder, such as..."

"I'll figure it out," muttered Fred irritably. He dug into a pocket and fished out a small pink ball. "Here Beebee, chew this."

Gabrielle gave him a sour look for the diminutive, and took the ball but didn't eat it.

"Go ahead, Gabrielle. It's the antidote, and it'll clean up your teeth too," reassured George. "What about mine, luv?"

"Zere were five, but zee last one was small," smiled Gabrielle, showing the length of the flame with her hands. She popped the pink ball into her mouth and chewed. She almost spit it right back out - it was vile.

"Sorry about that," said Fred seeing the nauseated look on her face. "We don't flavor the counters used during testing." He produced a small bottle from another pocket. "Now, we'll let you get back to your mischief in exchange for trying this. By the way, I think you'll find it under the mattress."

"What does it do?" Gabrielle eyed the milky white liquid with interest.

"Nothing too bad, and we've tried it on a number of people," answered George.

"Only not on a blond," noted Fred. "Close your eyes."

"You will tell no one?" she asked. The twins nodded. Gabrielle took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She felt them pull her hairband out, then work their hands through her hair. Too late, she realized there would be no way to hide whatever happened. Fleur is going to be so angry, Gabrielle thought. The twins finished smoothing her hair, and told her to keep her eyes closed. She waited.

"There - right around a minute. Excellent," announced Fred.

"It's a bit lighter, but I suppose that's to be expected," noted George. "Here's a mirror, Gabrielle. You can open your eyes."

Gabrielle looked in the mirror, and gasped. Her hair was blue, a light blue that shimmered slightly. She stared at the mirror in wonder, then threw her arms around Fred to hug him before turning and pulling George into a hug. George looked distinctly unnerved with the hug, and had his hands on her shoulders to push her away, but she didn't care. "Zank you, very much. It is beautiful and, eh, cool," enthused Gabrielle with a bright smile. She had always wanted to try this with her hair.

George cleared his throat, his ears pink, "I guess that'll be ten to me, then."

"I can not believe she is related to Phlegm," muttered Fred.

"It, um, the color changes every fifteen minutes or so," George told Gabrielle. The twins turned to go. "Er, about the lock. It's easier if the tip is at an angle."

"May I have ze rest?" blurted Gabrielle. Fred grinned and tossed her the bottle. "Zank you."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle had begun to hate this lock. Every time she got close the wire would lose purchase and slip. It was taking a long time, and she was starting to feel another disaster coming on. She pulled out the wires and looked at them. Which tip was supposed to be angled? Or was she supposed to hold them at an angle? Why was she doing this in the first place?

Frustration was beginning to get the better of her. She pushed the wires in again, along with three of the others. They will work as one, thought Gabrielle fiercely. She twisted the pick into position and wrenched it clockwise. What should have created a lock jammed by broken wire merely opened the lock with a click. Gabrielle stood in amazement, then entered the room. A large white owl screeched at her accusingly.

"(It is not my fault; Ginny made me do this,)" shushed Gabrielle. She looked around at the mess. Harry had only been here two days. Why were there clothes everywhere? His trunk was closed and probably locked. Fred had suggested looking under the mattress, so she stepped over the strewn clothing to the bed. Gabrielle had most of one arm beneath the mattress before she felt the thin, silky cloth. She pulled out the cloak. It was a beautiful silvery gray. Gabrielle put it on and looked in the mirror from George. That was a little stupid, Gabrielle thought upon seeing the wall behind her. I am invisible.

She kept the cloak on as she left, pausing to give the owl a treat. It nipped her finger anyway. Back in the hallway, the abused wires were a little reticent about being removed. The pliers gave her extra leverage, and the door locked again in the same surprising fashion. She stared at the twisted, mangled wires now out of the lock. Philippe would be so disappointed if he saw them, thought Gabrielle. "(I am so sorry, my little ones,)" whispered Gabrielle. "(I promise I will get you repaired.)"

Sneaking about with the cloak on was easy. She only had to remember not to step on it. Of course the fact that no one was about made it easy also. This disappointed Gabrielle. She could finally hide from Fleur, and Fleur was not looking for her.

Gabrielle made it back to Ginny's room, and hid the cloak under Ginny's mattress. Her hair was now green. It wasn't the best color for her, but if she wore it up her skin looked less pallid. She sat down at Ginny's vanity, and started arranging her hair.

Mrs. Weasley called that dinner was ready, and woke Gabrielle from her daydreams. It was all well and good to see the color in her hair and imagine the splash it would make, but it was quite the opposite when she realized she would be facing Fleur in a few minutes. Instead of thinking how she would fend off admirers, Gabrielle thought, I should have been thinking of places to hide.

Gabrielle had just stood to leave when a rather disheveled looking Ginny entered. Ginny burst into laughter, but then her face fell, "You got caught."

"Yes," said Gabrielle. "George and Fred found me."

"I figured that from the hair," sighed Ginny. "At least I had a good snog." She sat in the seat Gabrielle had just vacated, and started brushing out her hair.

"I did get zee cloak."

"You did? Oh Gabrielle, you're the best," exclaimed Ginny. She hugged Gabrielle tightly, then said, "But I'm so sorry about your hair. I'll get Fred and George to set it right, or they won't walk right for a few days!"

"You do not like it?"

"Er... you do?"

"Oui. I have always zought my hair was, eh, dull."

"Dull is not what it is now..."

"It changes color, also. It was blue at ze start. It is cool," declared Gabrielle. She began to suspect that Ginny did not share her enthusiasm.

"What about Fleur? And Mum?"

"You can tell zem... eh," Gabrielle started. Her eyes fell on Fleur's textbook. "You can tell zem I am reading about ze charms."

"Mum will be up here faster than a Firebolt," warned Ginny.

"Yes, but Fleur will not," answered Gabrielle. "Your mozzer is nice."

It was minutes after Ginny had gone downstairs that Gabrielle heard someone coming up. She was sure it was Mrs. Weasley from the heavier footfalls, so she snatched up the charms book and lay on the bed with it. There was knock on the door. "Gabrielle, dear, may I come in?" asked Mrs. Weasley through the door.

"Yes, come in," called Gabrielle.

"Oh Merlin," groaned Mrs. Weasley as soon as she entered. "I see the twins were here after all. I'm going to throttle those two! No wonder they aren't at dinner," she added angrily.

"You do not like it eezair?" Gabrielle combed her hand through her hair. "It is cool, I zink."

The dragon in Mrs. Weasley looked for a target, and found Gabrielle. "And you! It's all right to tweak Fleur with a gaudy bit of clothing, but she's been a right nightmare over the pranks. She believes it's a plot to ruin her wedding and stop her from marrying Bill. The twins never know when to stop, and you are making no effort to avoid them! Do you want to get in trouble with your mother? What about your schooling? Think! Fleur wants to disown you one minute and the next is fretting that we're trying to turn you against your own family. She thinks, she, er, she..." Mrs. Weasley trailed off, looking stunned. She sank onto Ginny's bed, and put her hand to her chest.

Gabrielle jumped up to go to her, and caught a glimpse of herself in Ginny's mirror. Her hair had changed color again. It was red, Weasley red. "Are you okay, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Er, I'm fine dear. It's, it's just... I always wanted another daughter."

That was a lucky break, thought Gabrielle. "I like George. I like Fred. I zink zey are good men, and zey are not mean to me. You should know zis."

"Fleur and your mother do not see it like that."

"Zat is why I am not at dinner."


	6. Au Natural

Chapter Six - Au Natural

Gabrielle decided that reading the charms textbook actually was a good way to pass the time. Mrs. Weasley had promised to bring up a plate for her later. Gabrielle didn't mind missing dinner, since without the twins there she would probably be expected to sit next to Fleur. Or Tonks, she laughed, as her hair now turned the same vivid pink that the auror favored.

Gabrielle's hair had gone from Tonks' pink, to a deep purple, to the current flaming orange before she heard Mrs. Weasley coming again. Expecting the tray, Gabrielle opened the door before she could knock.

"Ah, thanks, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. She entered and set the tray on Gabrielle's bed. "I'm afraid I have to apologize - Ron ate the rest of the ham. I thought you might like to try this muggle salad that Arthur found. It's a Waldo salad, a bit lighter than my normal cooking."

"I like your cuisine," assured Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley smiled at that. "How is Monsieur Moody?"

"Alastor is improved. Still has a tremendous headache though. And quadruple vision apparently," said the Weasley matron. "Umm, this probably won't surprise you, but Fleur is angry with you."

It did not surprise Gabrielle. "It was ze smoke. To Fleur, I embarrass the family."

"In this case, I think she wanted a bigger audience for her announcement. She blames you for the twins not being there."

"What announcement? Is it somezing about the ze wedding?" queried Gabrielle. Fleur can show no consideration for others, thought Gabrielle. If she has changed the day, or invited many more people, I shall steal Ginny's wand and set her on fire. Mrs. Weasley shouldn't have to put up with such rudeness.

"Oh no, dear," replied Mrs. Weasley, interrupting Gabrielle's internal seething. "She and Bill have bought a cottage on the other side of the village, closer to the High street but still very private. Quite surprising, really. I, um, don't know what to make of it quite yet."

Gabrielle knew what to make of it. It was wonderful news. If Fleur lived in Ottery St. Catchpole, then she would not be at Delacour manor reporting every minor transgression to Maman. Gabrielle would seem better behaved, saving her spot at Beauxbatons. And Fleur wouldn't be able to drag up 'The List' at every opportunity to embarrass Gabrielle either. Maman would certainly allow Gabrielle to vacation with Fleur during the summers, which would let her visit the Burrow too.

"I can see you like the idea," noted Mrs. Weasley. "I'll let her know you're excited for her if I see Fleur."

Gabrielle knew she was grinning madly. Fleur living near the Burrow was close to a perfect situation. She hoped the travel restrictions wouldn't get worse. "I am zinking about how I will be able to visit ze Burrow again."

"That's sweet," smiled Mrs. Weasley. "You would be welcome any time." She fingered a lock of Gabrielle's hair, "I guess you'll be staying in for the rest of the night?"

"I zink so, I will read more of ze book of charms."

"All right then," said Mrs. Weasley as she stood to leave. "By the way, if you are wondering about the color, it's Chudley Cannon orange." Gabrielle nodded as Mrs. Weasley left, and assumed Ron had helped with the colors.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was excited by the news, and found it difficult to concentrate on reading. She shifted restlessly about the room, and discovered that Ginny seemed to be stealing Harry's clothes. At least, she assumed the 'H' on the jumper she found on Ginny's bed meant it was Harry's. It looked small, so it probably didn't fit him anymore. The jumper also had a jagged hole in one of the arms, the edges of which looked bleached or burned by an acid. Possibly a potion-making accident, thought Gabrielle. Setting aside the jumper, she paced over to her trunk, then back to the bed.

She paused on her second lap to examine her hair in Ginny's mirror. It was now the blackest she had ever seen hair. This might be a good prank, Gabrielle thought, but it would be a nightmare fashion-wise. Only black would suit all the colors. Unless you only used it as a highlight. Perhaps, wondered Gabrielle, you could get alternating stripes if you waited fifteen minutes between applications. That would be something to try.

Gabrielle's hair turned white by the time she was considering braving Fleur's ridicule. There was nothing that would hold her interest in the room she shared with Ginny. If only, thought Gabrielle, I could turn invis... ible...

v - v - v - v - v

With the cloak on and her shoes off, Gabrielle crept through the hallway to the stairs. Fleur's room was on the next landing down. Invisible is not silent - that was something Philippe had read, but Gabrielle didn't think muggles could become invisible. Although, she thought and nearly laughed out loud, how would you tell?

The door was ajar and there was candlelight in Fleur's room. For a moment, Gabrielle thought of turning around and going back upstairs. She had to remind herself that she could not be seen, since she could of course see herself under the cloak. Gabrielle sidled over slowly to the door and peeked in. Bill sat in an armchair with Fleur perched on his lap. Gabrielle could see her sister looked annoyed again.

"... studying zee charms - eet eez not true!" accused Fleur. Gabrielle could see Bill whispering into Fleur's ear, but couldn't hear him.

"Ah no, zat eez true. I just know zat she eez again 'iding zee prank by your brozzers. Why else would zey miss dinner also?" Fleur shifted a little on Bill's lap and pushed him on the shoulder. "Stop zat now." Bill gave Fleur a sad look and nuzzled her ear.

"But what eez to become of 'er? She dresses as ze poor muggle and behaves as if she 'ad no upbringing," Fleur complained. Gabrielle bristled - the clothes she bought herself were used, but in very good condition, for the most part. Fleur sighed softly as Bill kissed his way up her neck to her ear for his reply.

"I said stop zat," wriggled Fleur. "I 'ave bought 'er new clothes; so 'as my mozzer." Bill leaned toward Fleur's ear again, and his hand disappeared from view. "But she 'as no taste, she 'as no - ooh..." moaned Fleur quietly. Gabrielle's face heated up; this was definitely a private conversation. Bill tightened his grip and whispered some more. He also licked Fleur's ear, which Gabrielle thought was a little gross.

"Uhn... zat you can keep doing," murmured Fleur. "Why do you take 'er side?" Whatever Bill said to Fleur made her squirm. "As you say. I will let 'er make zee mistakes. My mozzer will not be so forgiving zhough - oh! If you must do zat, seal ze door!"

Bill had his wand out in a flash, and the door swung shut firmly with an odd sucking sound. Gabrielle jumped back in surprise. Being invisible, thought Gabrielle, is hard. No one can watch out for you.

Gabrielle was surprised how Bill had disagreed with Fleur. She had also thought, along with the Weasley siblings, that Fleur would get her way in all things. To have Bill take her side against Fleur's was even more unexpected as Bill had never seemed to pay her much attention. She would have to see what Fleur would really do.

Gabrielle made her way slowly to the stairs again. She was sure that Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen. Tonks, and perhaps some of the other aurors who always seemed to show up around meal time, might have stayed after and she might overhear something that would explain why they are here. The aurors all seemed to know Harry, and Alastor Moody was obviously working with Harry and Ron. That didn't seem to be why the others were here each night, though. Mr. Weasley was constantly at work at the Ministry, but Gabrielle knew he didn't work with the aurors. It was possible that the aurors were all helping with security for the wedding, since there would be many guests from Gringotts and the British and French Ministries. Maybe she would hear when it would be possible to go outside. Not that the weather was particularly nice lately. It had turned chilly with a damp, dismal fog clinging to the trees most of the morning. The weather at home was much nicer, thought Gabrielle.

She reached the entry hall undetected, and was stopped by the closed door to the kitchen. How, Gabrielle wondered, do you open a door if you are not supposed to be there? Obviously she just couldn't open the door. If it had been a poltergeist rattling the walls instead of Moody's head, then they might believe a door would just suddenly open. There appeared to be no alternative to simply waiting for someone else to go through the door.

Waiting for a door to open was boring, so Gabrielle turned her attention to the dim light from the sitting room. In the gloom she could see Tonks sitting very close to the man who had arrived with Hermione this morning. He didn't really look well. Tonks was pulling his hands to her and whispering. Gabrielle tried to slip closer to see if this was Tonks' boyfriend, but she retreated when she saw Hermione's cat staring at and tracking her as she moved. Hermione said she could understand Crookshanks; what if others could too? Gabrielle crept back into the entry hall and over to the kitchen door, which was still closed. To her horror, Crookshanks followed. He sat with his bushy tail curled around him, in front of the kitchen door, staring right into Gabrielle's eyes.

"(Eh, please, eh, Crookshanks,)" Gabrielle whispered. "(I am not hurting anything.)" Crookshanks twitched his tail, and continued to stare. Gabrielle tried again, "I am not hurting anyzing. I want to see what is happening in ze kitchen."

Crookshanks tilted his head and seemed to consider this. The cat then stretched up the door, and began scratching at it like he was sharpening his claws. Gabrielle stood frozen half in panic and half in amazement as the door was opened by Hermione.

"Crookshanks, you naughty boy, what are you doing?" asked Hermione. Crookshanks used his paws to dig at the gap at the bottom of the door and his head to push on it. Hermione swung it open further. "What is it you're looking for?"

Once the door was open fully, the ginger cat flopped on its side with its back against the door. It looked at Gabrielle, then turned its attention to chewing Hermione's shoe laces.

"I thought you imperturbed the door," said Harry.

"I did. I think Crooksies is half-kneazle. He only seems to notice magic when he feels like it, don't you my widdle kitty?" replied Hermione as she scratched the cat under the chin. Gabrielle realized what was going on, and slipped past Hermione into the room. Ginny, Harry, Ron, and the auror known as Shack were seated at the table, which had a large sheet of parchment on it. Gabrielle settled slowly onto the floor next to the sideboard again.

"Can we get back to business here?" asked the black auror in his deep voice.

"Yeah. I think it is time, Ginny, that we got on with things," Harry said while giving Ginny a determined look.

Ginny's face fell and she chewed her lip, but she stood, "All right, I'm going. Just remember I kept my side of the bargain when it comes time to keep yours."

"What's that about?" asked Ron after Ginny left.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "I just don't want her, you know, involved with what were doing."

"That doesn't sound like Ginny to me," said Ron. "She wouldn't just leave like that. What did you promise her anyway?"

"That's not really any business of yours, Ron," informed Hermione. She returned to the table with her pet overflowing her arms, and Harry drew his wand and re-spelled the door.

"I didn't really promise her anything," said Harry. "Let's get on with the trip plan."

"Oh ho! You're in for it now, mate," crowed Ron. "You either don't know or don't understand what you promised - she'll have you over a barrel!"

"Ginny wouldn't do that," said Harry, but he sounded uncertain.

"Dunno for sure, but she can scheme as well as Fred and George. You've seen that," Ron reminded Harry.

"Can we get on with the plan?" interjected the auror.

"Yes, I quite agree, Mr. Shacklebolt," added Hermione.

"Just Kingsley will do," replied the auror.

Gabrielle listened as the auror, Kingsley, explained the route given to him by Alastor Moody. It cheered Gabrielle somewhat to learn the auror's name, as she had never really been comfortable thinking of him as 'Shack'. Kingsley described a complicated route, full of apparitions and broom flights. She had gotten to Hogwarts herself by port-key and carriage, so she had no idea how far it actually was. But this plan sounded like it would take all day. Gabrielle wished she could point out that people with head injuries may not have the clearest thoughts, but that would give her away.

It turned out that Ron had the same thought. Once Kingsley completed drawing zigzagging lines on the parchment with his wand, Ron summed it up, "Mad-Eye hit his head pretty hard, didn't he?"

"Moody has decades of experience moving covertly, and is a stickler for security," replied the auror. "He always uses more than one way of moving."

"But this could take all day," complained Harry. "The twins went to Hogwarts this morning, and were back before breakfast!"

"They don't have He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named personally trying to kill them," replied the Kingsley.

"Why can't we use port-keys? There seems to be an awful lot of unnecessary, er, flying," added Hermione. Gabrielle could see she was definitely paler.

"Unfortunately, it was Dumbledore who supplied the Order with port-keys. Brooms aren't very popular outside those of school age and quidditch, because of the danger of muggles seeing them. Day-time flights with disillusionment are an advantage we have," answered Kingsley firmly. Hermione sagged.

"Look," the auror continued, "it'll only be the three of you and Bitters Savage together, with two advance guards watching out ahead of you. It really is the smallest operation."

"You're not coming with us?" asked Ron in surprise.

"No. My duties at the Ministry prevent me. Bitters is good - better if you only call him Mr. Savage. Don't call him Bit Savage," explained Kingsley.

"Shack, why are we going through the Forbidden Forest after we reach the outskirts of Hogsmeade?" asked Harry. "Wouldn't be safer to take the path and get into Hogwarts sooner?"

"No cover on the path. You've been in the Forest before - it shouldn't be a problem," replied Kingsley.

"I met Voldemort in there once, and was nearly killed two other times," noted Harry. Gabrielle jerked at the name, and banged her head against the wall. The cloak must have deadened the sound, as no one turned toward her. "I would rather apparate to Hogsmeade and fly in from there. That would take about twenty minutes tops. The Death Eaters would have no time to react."

"Look, Harry, this is the plan that's in play. The advance guards were already briefed and dispatched. Trying to recall them now could compromise them," declared Kingsley. Gabrielle could tell Hermione wasn't happy. The older witch was wringing her hands and fidgeting.

"I, er, I don't, uh, have a broom," said Hermione quietly.

"No problem. We've got some older ones in the broom shed outside," said Ron. "Old Comets and Shooting Stars might be a bit slow compared to a Firebolt, but you'll, um... oh." The look Hermione gave Ron stopped him.

"I don't have a broom," said Hermione again carefully, "because I hate them. I can barely fly."

"You can fly with me," said Ron hopefully, and the tips of his ears reddened.

"Then there will be even less broom for me to hold onto!" exclaimed Hermione.

"But I'll be holding onto you," reassured Ron.

"And leave me to do the hanging onto the broom for both of us? Forget it! I'm sorry, I can't do this," spluttered Hermione.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair a few times. "Look, it's all right, Hermione. You don't need to come with us this time, and we'll take this into account next trip. Maybe you can use Buck, er, Whitherwings for flying, or... or a thestral - you've done that before. And sticking charms. Lots of sticking charms. Hermione was shaking her head. Gabrielle was surprised by Hermione's reluctance. Gabrielle had ridden on a broom with her father and found it fun. Even the fall from the broom when Fleur had given her a ride, after Fleur's first year at Beauxbatons, hadn't soured her opinion. I probably wouldn't even have been hurt, thought Gabrielle, if it hadn't been for the wrought iron fence around Delacour manor. She absently rubbed the site of the exit wound.

"And we'll find some books on creating port-keys in the library," continued Harry. "That's too important a skill to be lost. I'm absolutely positive you can do something there."

"And some books on the Fidelius charm, too," suggested Hermione, perking back up. "And, if you can find it - it should have been at the end of row 'C' of the Restricted Section, just above..."

"Oy, Hermione. If you want to carry all these books, you'll need to come along!" blurted Ron. "I mean, er, I... I am an idiot." Ron struggled to say anything coherent when Hermione turned to him with a hurt look in her eyes.

"Well that may be true, but I do think we'll have enough to be getting on with this trip," said Harry. "Besides, it'll give you a reason to learn to make a port-key properly."

"So it'll just be Savage, Harry, and Ron then," summed up Kingsley. "You'll need to get an early start tomorrow, be ready at 0700." Ron looked horrified, but didn't say anything.

The auror stood to leave. "I'll see you two off in the morning. Good night to you all; I'll see myself out the back door." Gabrielle scrunched herself into a tighter ball to avoid being stepped on as people shuffled about. Ron, in particular, had very large feet and wasn't very careful with them. At one point Harry seemed to be staring right at her quite intently, but Hermione interrupted him with some tea as she and Ron sat back down.

"Found anything on R.A.B.?" asked Harry.

"No. I couldn't match up any of the well-known wizards or witches last term, and didn't have any resources in Majorica," answered Hermione.

"Are these all the biscuits there were?" wondered Ron.

"I brought extra for you, and you can have mine if you're that hungry. Honestly, Ron. We're trying to brainstorm here," snapped Hermione.

"You brought me extra?" smiled Ron. This, thought Gabrielle, is just sad. Little kids get excited over extra pastry. What does she see in him?

"Right," said Ron with a clap of his hands. "Why do we think this bloke is famous?"

"Not so much famous, more like powerful. When I went with Dumbledore to the cave, he thought we were being sort of weighed for magic," explained Harry. "I figured whoever R.A.B. is would be more like Dumbledore than Crabbe."

"If he got in before all the protections were there, though, then could he be any average witch or wizard?" wondered Ron. He was already into Hermione's share of the biscuits. Gabrielle wondered if there were more in the kitchen. They looked good.

"No, not any witch or wizard," said Harry slowly. "They would need to be close to Voldemort."

"Not like Crabbe junior, but like Crabbe senior," declared Hermione. "The Ministry should have a list of known and suspected Death Eaters from before. That should give us at least a few possibilities to look at. Oh Ron, I could kiss you!"

Gabrielle could see this idea pleased Ron. It might have been very romantic if it wasn't the same expression he had worn when he heard about the extra pastry. Harry looked bemused. "Well, get on with it then," said Harry, covering his eyes. Hermione leaned across and kissed Ron fully on the lips, then gave him a longer kiss.

"Is it over yet?" asked Harry.

"He tastes like chocolate," noted Hermione after settling back into her seat.

"Didn't need to know that," muttered Harry. Hermione blushed. "We had better head up, Ron. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

The trio stood to leave, and Gabrielle made to get up. She couldn't, however, because Crookshanks was sitting on the cloak bunched up on the floor. The cat yowled and mewed.

"I'm sorry Crookshanks. You had your dinner. You can have more chicken tomorrow," admonished Hermione.

The three teens left the kitchen and Gabrielle could hear them going up the stairs. They had left a single candle burning in a holder on the table. Crookshanks eyes glowed with light reflected from it. He yowled and mewed like before, and very purposefully put his paws on Gabrielle's leg.

Gabrielle realized the noises he made weren't only like before, but were exactly as before. Crookshanks wanted chicken, and he expected Gabrielle to fetch it for him. I am, thought Gabrielle, being blackmailed by a cat. Is it even possible to fall further?

"You want ze chicken still?" whispered Gabrielle. Crookshanks moved over to the icebox door, then stared back at Gabrielle. He again yowled and mewed, only this time his tail lashed. "Yes, yes. I am coming."

It took Gabrielle some time to find the platter of leftover chicken, as the icebox was very crowded. She put the platter on the counter, and selected two chunks of breast meat. She bent down to offer these to Crookshanks; he jumped onto her back and onto the counter, then sped off with a leg and thigh dangling between his bandy front legs. Gabrielle sighed and put the chicken away. There wasn't much left of it now. She took the last of the biscuits to cheer herself up.

With no one in the entry hall, she could slip out of the kitchen and make her way upstairs. The candles were still lit in the sitting room, but Gabrielle decided that she had had enough sneaking around for one night.

Gabrielle was on the second flight of stairs when she heard movement in the entry hall. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley were coming back into the house. Gabrielle hurried up the stairs and into the corner across from the room she shared with Ginny. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley slept in the room down the hall.

"It's been so long since we've taken a walk like that Arthur," sighed Mrs. Weasley. "Such a shame the weather has turned."

"The wards did take a bit of doing, but they are works of art. Bill's at the top of his game," Mr. Weasley said proudly. "We'll be able to drop the Fidelius charm for the wedding without worries."

Mrs. Weasley sighed again. "Did you have to bring that up? I like to pretend it's already over."

Mrs. Weasley pulled his wife into an embrace. "Mollywobbles. The wedding will be fine. Everyone says you are doing a great job with the details - even Fleur, or so says Bill."

"Hmmph. Nothing but complaints reach my ears," complained Mrs. Weasley. "Er, what do you make of them getting a house near the village?"

"Well, they didn't say so, but I would put galleons on grandchildren coming soon than later."

"Grandchildren?" breathed Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle could see Mrs. Weasley's face as she leaned against her husband's shoulder. Gabrielle had expected the news to make Mrs. Weasley happy, but it seemed she was of two minds over the news. One of those minds seemed horrified at the thought, based on the expressions flitting across the Weasley matron's face. This made Gabrielle angry at her sister. For as much as Fleur accused Gabrielle of embarrassing the family, at least the Weasleys didn't shy away from her. Could Fleur, thought Gabrielle, really not notice?

"Can't help but wonder what they would look like," mused Mr. Weasley.

"I had a glimpse of the future there," said Mrs. Weasley, shaking off her mood. "The twins changed Gabrielle's hair to red. She looked just like Ginny did, but without the freckles."

"Ah. So that's why she wasn't at dinner. The poor thing was probably hiding her hair under a towel and all. I suppose we'll have to..."

"Oh no," interrupted Mrs. Weasley. "She was only hiding from Fleur. Her hair was, er, cool, as she said."

"Truly?"

"It was green when she said it, mind you. I was, er, discussing the twins with her when all of a sudden there was my baby girl in front of me - red hair, angel face, and bright, innocent eyes - just like before that damned diary. I swear I almost fainted."

Mr. Weasley wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders and started guiding her down the hall. "Come on now, dear. Ginny's well past that now."

The couple stopped at their door. "I know it's wrong, and I know she really loves Bill, but I find myself wishing it was Gabrielle and not Fleur marrying into the family," whispered Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley chuckled, "Be careful what you wish for. Bill said Gabrielle barely survived childhood from all the trouble she got into, at least so says Fleur. Ron jokes that Gabrielle has a crush on George. Can you imagine a combination like that? If Gabrielle was Ginny's age, I'd be worried."

"Oh don't be silly. Gabrielle's too young for that," replied Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle wished she had just gone into Ginny's room. She didn't need to hear this.

"Really? How old was Ginny when she fancied Harry?"

"That's hardly comparable. Harry was, is, famous - I can imagine every little witch dreamed of him at one point or another."

"And the twins have made the Weasley name widely known. There isn't a school in all of Britain that doesn't fear..." started Mr. Weasley. The rest was lost as the bedroom door closed behind them.

Gabrielle stood in the hall and tried to settle herself. She was angry at Fleur for telling stories about her and mistreating Mrs. Weasley. She was embarrassed by Ron's talk, and she was mortified to see Mrs. Weasley couldn't even look forward to her own grandchildren happily because of Fleur. Gabrielle was also irritated by the way Mrs. Weasley played down George again. And Fred. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, Mrs. Weasley did not know that the letter from Beauxbatons had listed Wheezes among the items that were banned, even though they were not even available in France.

Feeling calmer finally, Gabrielle knocked on the door to Ginny's room. There was a pause before Ginny answered the door, a pause that included the closing of a chest and scurrying sounds. "Gabrielle, there you are. I was wondering where you had gotten to," said Ginny when the door opened.

"I wanted to get out of ze room," said Gabrielle. "I used ze cloak."

Ginny's eyes flashed, "Well it's a good thing you weren't caught then! I thought I said this was a life-or-death situation, and you're out playing around with the cloak!"

Gabrielle's emotions were still undone, and she exploded, "(I was not playing around! And you wouldn't even have a plan if it wasn't for me. You want to help Harry, but I am the one who is doing things. Why do you even need the cloak? You live here, do you not? Just walk up the stairs!)"

"Er... what?"

"(And you could try to learn some French! Here, take the cloak,)" hissed Gabrielle. She roughly pushed the cloak into Ginny's arms, and threw herself onto her bed. Gabrielle landed amid half a dozen piles of clothing. She buried her head under her pillow even as she realized what the piles meant: Ginny had gone up into the attic to find more Fleur-free clothing for her.

Ginny said nothing else, and Gabrielle began to feel a little sheepish under the pillow. She had felt that Ginny didn't appreciate her efforts, but Ginny had taken the time to bring down from the attic with the ghoul clothes that she might like. That wasn't the same as sneaking into Harry's room to take the cloak, thought Gabrielle, but if that was so dangerous then why would it be okay to sneak into the kitchen using it? Gabrielle's regret over her outburst grew.

Gabrielle sighed loudly and sat up. Ginny had not moved.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny.

"I am sorry," said Gabrielle at the same time. There was an awkward silence.

"I, uh, didn't mean to snap at you Gabrielle. I'm a little nervous," said Ginny. She tittered, "Make that a lot."

"I am sorry also - it was not you zat I am angry with," Gabrielle said with a small smile. "Zee clothes, zey are for me?"

"Yeah. Mind you, there's nothing really great there. Just some basic stuff, and a few of George's old things." Gabrielle felt the blush rise up and wondered how it was that Fleur never had this happen. Ginny winked, "It's because Mum usually sews a 'G' on them - what did you think?"

Gabrielle changed the topic. "Harry and Ron went to zeir rooms. Zey will leave very early tomorrow."

"How do you know that?"

Gabrielle thought this was an odd question. "I was under ze cloak in ze kitchen."

"Really? You're a natural at this trouble-making. What else did you hear?"

"Hermione will not go with zem. She does not like, eh, ze brooms."

"Hermione's not going? She's usually the one keeping them safe. This ritual thing had better work then," fretted Ginny.

"Zey are just going to Hogwarts to get books. Is zere really much danger?"

"Well, You-Know-Who does have a personal grudge against Harry. And with... and with recent, um, events there's even more reason to expect - Him - to try to get at Harry," explained Ginny. "That's why we're cooped up in the house. Security needs to be high."

"Is he zee Chosen One?" asked Gabrielle quietly.

I think he's decided that he is," said Ginny in a pained voice. "Harry's gone up against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named four times and walked away. I just hope his luck holds out."

Gabrielle did not know what to say to that. The more she heard, the more she wondered at her parents allowing her to come to Britain. The papers in France mentioned the news of the attacks here, especially the murder of Headmaster Dumbledore, but somehow these did not cause much uproar on the continent. Gabrielle had read many of the articles in the British papers when she was preparing to meet Harry. The tone of the reports between the French and British press could not be more different. The death of Headmaster Dumbledore was noted with not so much horror that the supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed him but with sadness that the man who stopped Grindelwald was now dead. Perhaps it was because Grindelwald ravaged the French magical world while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was mostly confined to the British Isles. The more Gabrielle thought about this, the more dread and fearfulness she felt.

Ginny interrupted her thoughts. "Is there anyone downstairs?"

"Eh, Tonks and ze man who came with Hermione were in ze sitting room."

"Oh ho! That would be Remus Lupin - he was a professor at Hogwarts one year. Tonks wants to go out with him."

"He does not look well," noted Gabrielle.

"Um, yeah. That is, uh, expected. What were they doing?" asked Ginny.

"Sitting," smiled Gabrielle. They were in a sitting room, after all.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "What else were they doing? What were they talking about?"

"Zey were holding hands. I did not hear zem; Crookshanks saw me."

"Saw you? What do you mean?" asked Ginny in surprise.

"Ze cat followed me. I was afraid ze others could talk to him also," explained Gabrielle.

"Maybe he smelled you?"

"I do not zink so. He got me into ze kitchen even zough ze door had ze spell on it."

"Really? Sounds like Mrs. Norris," Ginny shuddered. "I'll need to watch out then." Ginny moved to the door. "I'm going to get the candles now. Er, please don't go anywhere with the cloak, all right? I trust you, but I don't want to take any chances."

Gabrielle didn't really believe that, but Ginny was obviously stressed so it was best not to provoke her. Not for the first time, Gabrielle wondered where Ginny had hid the book and whether she planned on giving it back. The book was probably in the room right now. Ginny wouldn't be gone long enough to search for it, however. Anyway, if Ginny did get caught, Gabrielle thought, I will only be an accompaniment. No, that's not what Philippe said. An accomplice.

Gabrielle turned her attention to the piles of clothes on her bed. Ginny had been guessing her size, and the piles were sorted accordingly. Most of the blouses looked a little large, but Gabrielle assumed she could grow into them. They were, as Ginny said, nothing special. The two with the embroidery were nice though.

Gabrielle looked at the pile with the jumper with a 'G' on it last. She felt anxious about doing so, but could not come up with a reason why. This jumper was more like an overcoat for her, though, with enough room inside for another of her. There was a pair of short trousers like a little boy would wear - her Maman would never allow her to wear these, but there was a letter 'G' embroidered on the back pocket. Perhaps she could take it and sew it onto something else. Under that was a Hogwarts quidditch shirt, in scarlet and gold. When she lifted it up a photograph tumbled out of the folds. In the picture, a younger George and Fred were hitting a bludger together, which left the photo in a blur every few seconds. After hitting the bludger, Fred would corkscrew out of the scene while George scanned the field, she supposed, with an intense look of concentration before plummeting away.

Gabrielle watched the little scene over and over, and wondered if Ginny knew the photograph was in there or had put it there. If Ginny did not put it there, would it, Gabrielle thought, be okay to just take it? If Ginny did put it there, was it just for teasing? Gabrielle decided that she would not ask Ginny about the photo, and put it in her trunk. The picture, along with the mirror from George, the patch, and the other candies from Fred, would be her mementoes. The quidditich jersey, with 'G Weasley' sewn on the back, went in also. It might come in handy someday, thought Gabrielle.

Gabrielle's trunk, which was full on the way to Britain, would be over-full with the extra clothes. That was easy to fix though. She took the dresses Fleur had packed in the formerly secret compartment, folded them neatly, and then slid them under her bed. If I did not pack them, rationalized Gabrielle, then I would not know to keep track of them.

Gabrielle was just coming out from reaching under the bed when Ginny's entry startled her. Gabrielle stood up quickly, rubbing her head where it had banged the bed frame.

"What were you doing?" asked Ginny.

"Nozzing. You found ze candles?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders, "Yes. That was easy enough. I took extra because I couldn't tell how long the spell will take."

"Where is ze book? I will read it for you," said Gabrielle quickly. She had intended for it to sound casual, but knew it did not.

"No. that's all right. Anyway, well, I'd better get going," said Ginny. The was a shakiness in her voice now. Ginny dropped the candles on her bed, and with a deep breath, started disrobing.

Gabrielle would not have been surprised by Ginny changing her clothes before she left, but she was astounded when the older girl slid the last of her clothes to the floor, stepped out of them, and pulled the cloak around her. "You are going like zat?" Gabrielle asked incredulously.

Ginny turned, only her pink face visible, "Yeah."

Gabrielle took a moment to compose her question. "Why?"

"I, uh, I don't want Harry to have a chance to, um, argue. I don't want to chicken out when I get there, either," said Ginny shakily. "I don't want to forget anything in his room. Can't do that like this." Ginny giggled hysterically.

She has, Gabrielle thought, completely lost her senses. Suppose she does get caught, even with the cloak? What possible excuse could she have for being naked?

"Wish me luck," said Ginny on her way out the door. Pulling the cloak over her head, she disappeared.

"Good luck," said Gabrielle. "Ginny!" she called as the now invisible witch started to close the door.

"Keep it down!" hissed the air near the almost closed door. "What is it?" came a whisper.

"Ze candles," Gabrielle whispered back. "You are forgetting ze candles."

"Oh. Right. I'm going to need those," Ginny tittered.

Gabrielle watched the candles and a sheet of parchment disappear, then the door seem to open and close by itself. This, thought Gabrielle, will be bad. She decided to go to bed even thought it was not particularly late. Surely it could not be her fault, if she was asleep. She moved the clothes to the chair and dressed for bed.

After fifteen minutes of restlessness and waiting for the alarm to sound, Gabrielle was up and pacing about the room. She felt exposed, even though it was Ginny who would bear the brunt of the disaster, and shivered a little in her nightgown. Gabrielle rubbed her arms for warmth. It was barely this cold in winter in France, she thought. On an impulse, she went to her trunk and pulled out the quidditch jersey. It was a heavier material, and Gabrielle changed into it from her regular bed clothes. The jersey was warmer and the stiffness of the fabric made her feel protected. This was much better, she thought. Gabrielle tried not to think of the lettering on the back, and climbed back into bed.


	7. First Time

Chapter Seven - First Time

Gabrielle woke the next morning not feeling particularly refreshed even with going to bed early. She didn't have many nightmares, but last night her worst nightmare came back. She remembered waking twice from the horror of being in hospital, surrounded by menacing strangers, while her horrible injuries kept her from reaching her family. Gabrielle knew the origin of the nightmare, and she knew the stress over Ginny's plan probably brought it forth. This knowledge did not bring back the lost sleep.

Thinking of Ginny, Gabrielle rolled over to see if the older girl had made it back. At first Gabrielle thought that Ginny had not returned, but when Gabrielle rubbed the sleep from her eyes she could see at least pieces of Ginny had come back. Laying on the bed across the room was Ginny's head, and one foot. It took a second look, but Gabrielle quickly realized that Ginny must have fallen asleep under the cloak. It's like she wants to be caught, thought Gabrielle.

Gabrielle padded across the room and pulled the cloak from Ginny, who was still nude. Gabrielle shook her head at this, and folded the cloak. Her first thought was to hide the cloak under the mattress like Harry had, but with Ginny on it the mattress was too heavy to lift. Gabrielle turned to put it under her mattress, then stopped as the instinct for self-preservation kicked in. Ginny's trunk was locked, and Gabrielle knew Mrs. Weasley would put clothes into the wardrobe. There weren't many hiding spots in the crowded room. Finally, Gabrielle pulled the pillow from under Ginny's head and stuffed the cloak inside. The pillow was definitely lumpier, but it would have to do. Anyway, thought Gabrielle, Ginny should have taken care of it.

Ginny had not stirred on the bed, even when Gabrielle had pulled the pillow away. It was earlier than normal and Gabrielle knew Ginny liked to sleep in, but this didn't seem ordinary. Gabrielle stared at Ginny - she definitely was breathing. Gabrielle tried to pull the blanket from beneath Ginny to cover her up, but it was too difficult. Instead she put Ginny's housecoat over the girl's naked form, and the pile of laundry over Ginny's legs and feet to keep them warm. Gabrielle came across the socks Ginny had thrown at her yesterday. She now suspected they were from Harry, and she draped them over Ginny's face. Ginny mumbled something and limply waved her hand, but the socks stayed and her movements subsided.

Gabrielle cheered herself by imagining Harry's face when he went to kiss his girlfriend and found she smelled like feet. That would be something to see, and with the cloak she just might be able to. Maybe that was an idea for George and Fred too - make-up that smelled nice to the person wearing it, but smelled of feet to everyone else.

Gabrielle was so distracted by these thoughts that she forgot herself and started to slide down the banister to the entry hall. The sight of her bare legs sticking out surprised her, and she realized that she was walking around with only the quidditch shirt on. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she jumped off and went back up.

Back in the shared room, Gabrielle discovered that Ginny was very clearly alive as the sleeping girl was now snoring loudly. The socks were still on Ginny's face - the tip of one moved up and down as Ginny breathed. Gabrielle considered moving it slightly so that it would actually dip in and out of Ginny's mouth, but she knew that would not be a good idea as long as they were roommates. Instead, she lifted up her housecoat and found the bottle of hair-color prank from Fred. Gabrielle decided that, since she wouldn't be expected at breakfast yet, now was the time to experiment.

Sitting in front of Ginny's mirror, Gabrielle tried to decide how to arrange her hair. She wanted to see if she could get two colors at once, but not all over her head. A braid would do fine, but Gabrielle usually needed help if it were to be even and she didn't want to wait for Ginny. Ponytails were easy. They also made her look eight years-old - definitely out, thought Gabrielle. Finally, she determined to wear most of her hair pulled back, with four locks of hair saved to be colored and pulled back separately. If she twisted the colors together, Gabrielle mused, it would be like wearing a hair band. She set to work.

Little more than a quarter of an hour later, Gabrielle was again making her way to the breakfast table. She had two colors in her hair. The effect was subtle, at least to Gabrielle, but interesting. Gabrielle wondered if it was possible to have the colors change more often. Her thoughts were interrupted by Fleur when she reached the entry hall. Fleur held a steaming mug Gabrielle knew was intended for Bill.

"(What are you wearing? I hope you dress better than that in public today,)" nagged Fleur.

Gabrielle looked down at herself. She had forgotten the housecoat again while fixing her hair, "(Eh, I was cold last night. I forgot my housecoat in the room.)"

"(You should not be walking around like that. Maman has taught you better manners!)" scolded Fleur. Her eyes narrowed, "(What is in your hair?)"

"(Nothing!)" Gabrielle tossed back as she turned and started back up the stairs. It was not a lie as the coloring was on her hair, not in it. Anyway, it was too early to deal with Fleur, thought Gabrielle.

Once more in the bedroom, Gabrielle found Ginny sleeping more quietly. Ginny had rolled onto her side and in the process dislodged the socks. Gabrielle picked the socks up from the floor and arranged them to cover Ginny's eyes, nose, and cheek. Then Gabrielle put on her housecoat, knotted it securely, and went back down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Gabrielle found Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley was sniffing Bill's cup suspiciously while talking to Tonks in a low voice. Hermione was paging through a large spellbook. George and Fred were not there, which was a disappointment.

Mrs. Weasley looked up and set the mug down, "Good morning, Gabrielle, dear, Can I get some coffee and toast for you?"

"Good morning. Please, I would like ze English saute. If it is not much trouble," smiled Gabrielle. She tried to guess the seating arrangements. The seats on either side of Hermione were likely to have been used by Ron and Harry. They probably left an hour ago, but Gabrielle was not supposed to know that. Bill's mug defined where he and Fleur would sit. She always sat to the left of him. The seat next to Fleur was reserved for stragglers. Tonks would sit anywhere, but she usually ended up near Harry or Ron. The twins would sit near Tonks.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted her calculations, "Come again?"

"Eh, zee English saute, with ze eggs and ze, eh, rashes of bacon..."

"The English fry-up, perhaps?" corrected Hermione.

"Oui. And ze little cooked tomato," nodded Gabrielle. "I can help." She felt a little bad making extra work for Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh pish, it's no trouble at all," smiled Mrs. Weasley. "Is Ginny up?"

"Non. She is still sleeping," replied Gabrielle.

"Well she can't sleep all morning. We're off to Diagon Alley for the dress-fittings today." The cheer in Mrs. Weasley's voice was quite artificial. "Would you mind popping upstairs to remind her?"

"I will," agreed Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley left for the kitchen proper. Gabrielle turned to go.

"I like the hair," called Tonks, giving her a thumbs-up.

"Zank you," waved Gabrielle on her way out the door. She started up the stairs for the third time.

v - v - v - v - v

"Ginny, it is time for waking up," said Gabrielle as she gently shook Ginny's shoulder. "Ginny!" The red-haired girl shifted, but did not open her eyes.

"Ginny! Wake up!" Gabrielle poked Ginny's shoulder.

"Go 'way Luna," mumbled Ginny. She raised a hand to her face, discovered the socks, and opened one eye to squint at them before falling back to the pillow.

"Ginny, your mozzer says come to breakfast," prodded Gabrielle. She ducked when Ginny flung an arm out to grope at the bedside table. Gabrielle grabbed the wand before Ginny's fumbling hand found it.

"Petrifris... tot'liss," garbled Ginny, with a quill dangling from her hand.

Gabrielle looked at the wand in her hand. She really had not held one since breaking her father's wand while trying to transfigure a shed into a castle. She had just been a dumb kid at the time; now, after reading the charms book, Gabrielle knew more. However, as much as she wanted to try the bluebell flames from the textbook, she really couldn't justify setting Ginny on fire. There had been a section on ringing charms, but she skipped it when she had been angry with Fleur in favor of the lizard-skin charm. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, I should just hit her with the wand to wake her. Then she remembered what Hermione had done to her, when she was hiding behind the sofa. Gabrielle was sure she remembered the incantation. While she hadn't seen the wand movements Hermione used, Gabrielle assumed it couldn't be too important as Hermione had cast it between the sofa and table.

Gabrielle took a step back and a deep breath. She swished the wand a few times - it didn't feel quite right, like it was too heavy at one end. She pulled it toward her, then thrust it forward toward Ginny. "_Compuctio!_"

There was a flash of light and a deafening bang. Gabrielle shrieked and was blown backward onto the floor where she curled up cradling her hand. The wand shot forward and clattered against the wall on the other side of Ginny's bed. Ginny matched Gabrielle's shriek and rolled up bracing against the wall. She brandished her quill before her, and used her other arm to cover herself.

"Bloody hell! Gabrielle!" shouted Ginny. "Are you trying to frighten me to death?" Gabrielle just whimpered on the floor.

"Are you hurt?" asked Ginny, getting down from the bed on quaking legs. She pulled on her housecoat, and kneeled at Gabrielle's side. "Let me see."

Gabrielle let the older girl take her hand and gently open it. Tears flowed from Gabrielle's eyes from the pain, and she wiped them away so she could see the damage. In the center of her palm was a red blister the size of a galleon, pulsing with the beat of Gabrielle's heart. It looked like a burn blister, and might not have been so bad if the rest of her palm and fingers weren't covered with weird white scales. Ginny prodded the blister experimentally and Gabrielle went white, hissing in pain.

"What were you trying to do?" asked Ginny.

"(I tried to do a spell that Hermione used on me but I must have made a mistake,)" said Gabrielle in one breath.

"Er, right. Well, I haven't seen anything like this before. I'll get Mum."

"No. No, not Mmm..." started Gabrielle. She didn't want Mrs. Weasley to know, because Mrs. Weasley would call Madame Pomfrey, who would then contact her Maman. "Get, eh... get Hermione. Please."

Ginny rubbed some of the scales. They sloughed off leaving deep pock marks. "No, sorry Gabrielle, but it had better be Mum. Or both." Ginny hurried out the door.

Gabrielle sat on the floor against Ginny's bed. At least, thought Gabrielle looking at her hand, it is still attached. Not that that would make much difference to Fleur or Maman. Gabrielle knew she was in big trouble now. Her Maman was very clear about her trying to use a wand, saying that the accidents were bad enough but that magical accidents would be far worse. And now Gabrielle sat here having magically mangled herself. What was worse was that she could see Fleur's charms textbook from where she now sat, laying under the piled clothes. She could have looked up a proper spell. At least Aunt Laurel was wrong - she was not a squib. Gabrielle may not have gotten the wand to do what she wanted, but it definitely did something.

It wasn't long before Ginny returned with Mrs. Weasley. Hermione came in shortly after, hefting the big medical book. Gabrielle was made to get on her bed, but was allowed to sit up. She was relieved when Hermione spelled the door.

"Let's see it then, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. She took the hand Gabrielle held clutched to her chest and turned it palm up. "Oh you poor thing," soothed Mrs. Weasley.

"The blister looks like a bad burn, but they don't describe any that have scales," said Hermione, flipping through the book. "I believe Harry has some essence of murtlap - that should help the swelling and redness."

"Mmm," said Mrs. Weasley noncommittally. She was gently probing the scales. "Well, if she's going to avoid scarring we'll be needing Madame Pomfrey." A circling motion of her wand eased the pain in Gabrielle's hand, after a brief sting.

"Is zere nozzing you can do?" winced Gabrielle.

"I think having the Hogwarts healer tend you personally is quite a bit," scolded Mrs. Weasley.

Gabrielle looked down. "I am sorry. I... my mozzer will be angry, very much." Gabrielle sniffled.

"She'll be quite a bit angrier if you return home with scars all over your hand. The longer you wait to tell her, the angrier she will be. Trust me." Mrs. Weasley sighed when tears started dripping onto Gabrielle's housecoat. "Look, Poppy's used to this sort of thing from her students. If she can get your hand fixed up I promise she won't call your mother."

"Zank you," Gabrielle said wetly. She wiped her eyes and attempted to smile.

"I can't say what your sister will do," added Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle dropped her head.

"What happened anyway?" asked Hermione after allowing Mrs. Weasley to leave.

"I was waking up Ginny with ze spell. It, eh, did not work."

Hermione looked over at Ginny, who had fallen back asleep slumped over the vanity. "In more than one way it seems. What spell were you trying?"

"Ze one you did to me ze first morning."

"The compunctio spell? Then we'll definitely need Madame Pomfrey. Back-fired curses are bad."

Gabrielle furrowed her brow and thought, com-punc-tio? Was that what I said? Gabrielle had thought she had said it correctly, but this didn't feel right when she mouthed it.

Another thought crossed Gabrielle's mind. "Curse? You did ze curse on me?"

"Ah... it, er, is not much of a curse, really. Really more of a charm, but technically a curse," admitted Hermione. "What is up with Ginny?"

"She is tired." Gabrielle tried to glare at Hermione, "You curse many people?" This revelation could come in handy.

"What? No! It's... it's a spell I learned of from Viktor. They use it at Durmstrang to keep the students moving in the halls," explained Hermione. "It's modified from a livestock spell."

"I am ze livestock to you?" said Gabrielle with a pout. Hermione was easy to wind up.

"No, of course not! I'm very sorry Gabrielle. I should not have used it. I was just a little, er, over-excited."

"By Ron?" asked Gabrielle. She could not keep a note of incredulousness from her voice. Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Gabrielle.

v - v - v - v - v

Madame Pomfrey came and went in a flurry of painful pokes, smelly ointments, and bandages - lots of bandages. The healer recognized the wound right off as the result of a misfired curse, and tutted at Gabrielle the rest of the session. Madame Pomfrey assured Gabrielle and Mrs. Weasley that her hand would return to normal by the next day, if Gabrielle did not use the hand. To that end, Madame Pomfrey carefully wrapped Gabrielle's right hand in bandages. Gabrielle, staring at the mass of cloth almost the size of her head that engulfed her hand and tapered to her elbow, wondered if Madame Pomfrey did it as a prank, or a punishment, or because she did not know you could cut the roll. How, Gabrielle thought, am I going to explain this to Fleur?

Madame Pomfrey also tutted over the semi-conscious Ginny, and gave her a dose of Pepper-Up potion. This got Ginny into the shower and dressed before she began to flag again. Gabrielle figured Ginny would make it to the table and tea before she drifted off though.

Which meant going downstairs to the kitchen. Gabrielle was perfectly fine with eating in the bedroom yet again. That would give her some time to come up with a way of dealing with Fleur, or at least delay the explosion. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, wanted to get it over with as soon as possible so Fleur could calm down before the fitting. Ginny mumbled something, and was generally useless. Hermione got her own back by pointing out that the twins were downstairs right before Gabrielle grudgingly agreed to go down now, making that look like the winning argument.

Mrs. Weasley left to warm up the food, and Hermione tugged Ginny along down the stairs. Gabrielle dithered as long as she could and reached for her housecoat, only to realize the ball of bandage at the end of her arm was useless for that task. It was also useless when it came to fitting through the sleeve of the housecoat. Madame Pomfrey had made her take it off, but only made Gabrielle push up the baggy sleeves of the quidditch shirt. Now, without help, Gabrielle was trapped inside one and outside the other. The jersey was long on her, but it barely made it to mid-thigh. She was not going to sit at the breakfast table like that. Gabrielle wrapped the housecoat around her waist and headed for the door, which she discovered she could not open without letting go of the housecoat.

It took Gabrielle a few minutes of struggle to get into a pair of slacks Ginny had brought down, only to find the legs were several inches too long. Gabrielle gave up any hope of dressing satisfactorily and shuffled off to the breakfast table. She had to stop each flight of stairs to adjust the slacks. Gabrielle sighed: it was going to be another bad day.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle pushed open the door of the kitchen slowly. She could see Hermione sitting next to Ginny, pouring tea. Bill and Fleur sat on the far side of the table. Tonks sat near the twins. Gabrielle entered quietly. It did not matter.

"(Oh good lord!)" exclaimed Fleur. "(Can you not dress yourself anymore? What have you done to yourself now?)"

"(I am sorry! There was an accident...)" started Gabrielle. She stood at the door, trying to decide whether to run.

"(It is always an accident with you! You look like a muggle who lives on the street!)" raged Fleur, her face flushed with anger. "(This, this is too much. You ruin the Delacour name. It is an outrage. It, it, it... _percussum_!)"

Fleur's slapping charm sailed over Gabrielle's head. Bill had knocked Fleur's wand up and away, and he now gripped her tightly while whispering into her ear. Fleur struggled in his grip and broke free, spinning away to face the wall. No one at the table spoke or even moved. Gabrielle didn't breath. Fleur's shoulders shook slightly and her silvery hair hung like a curtain around her bent head. She stood silent and alone for what seemed to Gabrielle to be several minutes. Finally, sweeping her wand in front of her face, Fleur flipped her hair back behind her and stepped back to Bill. Her eyes were no longer angry but downcast, and she did not look to Bill's face. Fleur simply stood close to him, arms at her side. Bill said nothing, and did nothing at first but watch her. Gabrielle could not see what he saw, but he suddenly opened his arms for an embrace and Fleur crashed against him. And cried. Gabrielle had only rarely seen Fleur lose control of herself; it was a shock to see her blubbering and snuffling like that. Mrs. Weasley burst into the eating area at this point and herded Bill and Fleur, with her face buried against Bill's broad chest, into the kitchen proper.

The mother Weasley reappeared bearing a large plate. "Gabrielle, dear, why don't you have a seat?"

Gabrielle stared at the door Fleur had disappeared behind, wondering if she should check on her. Gabrielle recalled the bruises on Fleur yesterday. Hopefully it was only the stress of the wedding getting to her sister. Fleur might not be the nicest sister, but the Fleur from the time before the trip was a lot better than this strange and explosive Fleur.

"Beebee!" shouted Fred. "Sit over here!" He waved his arms as if she wasn't standing less than ten feet from him.

"Yeah Gabrielle. Fred's been warming up your chair all morning." called George. He gave Fred a rough shove.

"Bollocks. I'm sure your little fan would rather have your seat. Now 'booj' up!" Fred lowered his shoulder and charged George. The two toppled to the floor, along with the chair. Mrs. Weasley waved her wand to right it and began shouting at them as they rolled and tumbled. Gabrielle ignored the silly play of the twins, hitched up the over-sized slacks, and moved over to the twins' seats. Gabrielle did want to sit with George and Fred; she had the make-up idea and the hair-coloring to talking about. But she didn't want Fred, who seemed less reticent this morning, to be annoyed if she took his seat. Gabrielle also didn't want to be laughed at if she took George's seat. The obvious solution was to get her own chair, but she really had only one hand free and that was really being used to keep the drooping slacks in place. Gabrielle pushed the chairs together and sat on both chairs. The perfect solution for twins, Gabrielle thought. No one can complain. She slid their place settings over.

Mrs. Weasley hovered the plate over to Gabrielle. It looked like enough food for a week. Three fried eggs sat next to eight slices of bacon and four bangers, all bordered by what had to be an entire loaf of bread toasted and buttered. In the middle was a single tomato half, broiled. Once her fork had floated over, Gabrielle considered where to start, She was getting full just looking at the over-flowing plate. Well, thought Gabrielle, I did ask for it.

"Eh, zank you," smiled Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley smiled back and looked about to say something, but then turned and went back to the kitchen proper.

"Now what do you make of this one, brother?" asked George. He slid onto the remaining half of his seat.

"Give her a knut and she'll take a galleon," said Fred, who squeezed Gabrielle from the other side. His jostling dislodged the piece of fried egg Gabrielle was maneuvering on her fork with her left hand. "She's trouble."

"Yes, yes," dismissed George. "I was thinking of the costume, actually."

"Ah. Right team, but missed the star player that year," noted Fred. Gabrielle had managed to recapture the egg and raise it up before Fred elbowed her again. The morsel fell, and Gabrielle wished for the meat forks.

"Looks bang on to me, but it is missing something..." considered George. "Let's see." He produced his wand and tapped Gabrielle's bandaged hand. It transformed into a scaled-down bludger. Gabrielle stared at it in surprise.

"Ooh, that's very nice," complimented Hermione.

"That's nothing. How 'bout this?" asked Fred. "_Bombardus minimus_." With a flick of his wand the bludger encasing her hand began to bob around, jerking a few inches this way and that.

This was too much for Gabrielle. The way things were going breakfast would last until lunch as she had not managed a single bite. "Stop zis. I would like to eat zee eggs, please. Zey are getting - oh!" The mini-bludger had apparently taken offense to her request, and bounced off her head. The twins and Tonks burst out laughing. Hermione stifled her amusement with her hand. Ginny's head was propped up on one arm, and she had no reaction as she was dozing once again. Gabrielle reddened in embarrassment.

"I know what you need to keep these bludgers in line," laughed Tonks. She transfigured her spoon into a wooden club. "You need a beater's bat. Oops." The auror slid it across the table to Gabrielle, then repaired the salt shaker it had cracked along the way.

Gabrielle picked up the bat. The transfigured bandages had felt hard when they hit her head, but she was very sure batting the little bludger would hurt her. Batting Fred, on the other hand, was probably okay. She looked over at him.

"Is that the time? Best we finish breakfast and get to the shop," declared Fred. "Oy, can I have the sausages?"

"No. I need to eat zem," replied Gabrielle. How she could do that with the bat and bludger occupying her hands was a problem.

"Just a bit heartier than normal for you, though," observed George.

"I am trying to, eh, grow," replied Gabrielle. He remembers, thought Gabrielle, what I eat?

"That would explain the trousers then," laughed Fred.

"Let me give you a hand with that," offered George. He made slicing motions with his wand and Gabrielle's food fell into bite-size pieces. Then, with a complicated series of wand waves, George pronounced, "_Invalidus conveyatum_." Gabrielle's fork jumped from the table, stabbed a piece of banger, and presented it to her mouth. When Gabrielle tentatively ate the sausage from the fork, it dipped back down for some egg.

"Now how do you know that?" asked Tonks.

"Well, funny story, back about a month ago..." started George.

"He doesn't want to talk about it," interrupted a glaring Fred.

"I, er, don't want to talk about it," repeated George with a smirk.

"_Ennervate_," incanted Hermione. "What is going on with you this morning Ginny? At least finish chewing before taking a nap."

"Uhnn... I'm just completely knackered right now," groaned Ginny. She squinted at Gabrielle through half-closed eyes. "Are there try-outs or something?"

"Too late, dear sister. Beebee grabbed the open beater spot," answered Fred.

Gabrielle would have said something to Fred about calling her 'Beebee', or explained herself to Ginny, or mentioned her idea to George, but found she could not. The enchanted fork was very diligent - every time she opened her mouth to speak it was filled with food. The fork eluded her grasp and it was hard to dodge both it and the bludger stuck on her arm in the tight quarters. George did not seem inclined to halt the utensil, and Fred definitely enjoyed the bludger. Gabrielle hoped Fleur would not come out now. Even though George and Fred appeared to be finished eating, they still pressed in on her from both sides. Gabrielle found the seating arrangements to be somewhat uncomfortable. At the same time it was very comfortable in ways Maman and Papa would likely disapprove of.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle had never eaten so much at one time in her life. The fork did not stop, and it became aggressive when she swung at it with the beater's bat from Tonks. Fortunately, George and Fred were able to snatch things from her plate if they timed it right. Otherwise Gabrielle felt sure she would have exploded. Fred suffered another stab wound when he tried to scoop up some tomato. George was able to make six very small bacon sandwiches without incident, but did not eat them.

When the plate was empty, the fork fell with a clatter down onto the plate. Gabrielle used her free arm to support her now swollen stomach. "(It may be days before I am hungry again,)" she groaned quietly.

"How'd you do that?" asked Tonks suddenly.

"Mounds of natural talent and years of practice, of course," answered Fred.

"Loads of charisma and bold marketing, I suspect," added George.

"I was asking Gabrielle."

"It was, eh, un accident. Madame Pomfrey says it will heal without ze scars," said Gabrielle. She really didn't want to explain about the wand and curse.

"I meant your hair. It just changed color," clarified Tonks.

"Oh! It is ze new Wheeze from George and Fred. I did ze, eh, eh... pieces of hair - first one, zen wait, zen the second. It gives two colors like zat," explained Gabrielle. "It changes every fifteen minutes."

"It's brilliant. Can you pick the colors?" asked Tonks to Fred and George.

"I would like zem to change more often," added Gabrielle.

George and Fred seemed resistant to the suggestions and opinions from Gabrielle, Tonks, and even Hermione. Fred, in particular, felt the very point of the prank was being lost. Gabrielle, still squashed between the two wizards, almost received an elbow to her face when Fred became outraged by Hermione's suggestion of a companion de-activator. George argued very thoughtfully, Gabrielle thought, that a prank required a certain lack of control. It was only when Ginny's eyes cleared, after a fourth cup of tea, and she pointed out that by using school colors and team colors, and by selling in Quality Quidditch supplies to get more customers, that Fred and George began to listen. "You're leaving galleons in the cauldron," Ginny pronounced. "Imagine a whole stadium of supporters using it," she added before sagging again. That shut the twins up. They just looked at each other over the top of Gabrielle's head while the older witches discussed other uses. Gabrielle was occupied with examining the small bludger. It still jerked around and looked like a bludger, but she was beginning to see faint ridges on it which she supposed were the cloth wrapping coming through.

The twins suddenly got to their feet. Gabrielle, who had been surreptitiously leaning more and more against George, nearly toppled. Fred and George swooped down on Ginny and planted a kiss each on the sides of her face. Ginny was several seconds behind current events and swatted where the boys had been. The twins faked heading back to their seats before doubling back to give a squealing Hermione wet-sounding kisses.

Tonks faced the boys, "Come on then, and make 'em nice." Fred and George closed around her, each taking an ear to nuzzle, until a loud bang made Fred jump back shaking his hand. "Little too fresh there," scolded Tonks.

Gabrielle watched this and barely breathed. Would they, Gabrielle wondered, kiss her too? She could feel her heart pounding, and tried to calm down. She was, thought Gabrielle, being silly. If they did kiss her it wouldn't really mean anything. They were just glad for the ideas. Still, it would be a kiss from a boy. Gabrielle couldn't help but wonder if it would be the same as Ginny's, Hermione's, or Tonks'. Would George be different from Fred? These thoughts swirled in her head so that she almost didn't notice the twins - walking past her! They were going to leave, panicked Gabrielle. Maybe I am just a silly little girl expecting too much, thought Gabrielle, but she had helped too. And she did not complain about the bludger on her arm. Or that she had been stuffed like a goose by George's fork. Would they just leave? Gabrielle had been anxious with anticipation, and now that nervous energy was added to by anger and disappointment. She could not contain herself and blurted, "What about me?"

Oh no, thought Gabrielle squeezing her eyes shut, that wasn't really out loud, was it? Tonks' laugh and a snort from Hermione confirmed that it had been. Gabrielle immediately buried her face in her hands, which meant she hit herself in the face with the bludger. She jerked her head back in shock and the twins roared with laughter. The cloak, thought Gabrielle. I will use the cloak and hide until the wedding.

"How could we forget Beebee?" laughed Fred. He dropped back into his seat.

"Our favorite Delacour and newest beater," proclaimed George. "A bit forward, but she knows what she wants."

"Pretty clear what she wants," smirked Fred. He puckered his lips and continued to speak, "'Ur luddle 'an."

"Just shut it," shushed George uneasily as he dropped into his seat. He looked down on Gabrielle who only came up to his shoulders. "Er, I don't suppose you could stretch up a bit?"

Gabrielle couldn't find her voice. Her face was still hot from the humiliation of just before, and now she was nervous about what was to come again. She shook her head.

"'Ut shoo' 'ee 'oo?" asked Fred, still puckering.

"Be careful your face doesn't freeze like that," warned Tonks.

"Could try the neck-stretching spell - she's bound to be stronger than that chicken," considered George.

"_Windgardium Leviosa_," said Hermione. Gabrielle yelped in surprise as she suddenly bobbed into the air. Why, thought Gabrielle as the others laughed again, do people think they are allowed to cast spells on me? The embarrassment she had caused herself was bad enough, and now Hermione floating her magically just added to it. They are ruining things, Gabrielle thought. She knew she would probably never be George's girlfriend, and that she was being stupid to even daydream about that. That was no reason for having her one chance at a kiss ruined by Hermione, who could get Ron to kiss her anytime. Gabrielle decided that if George and Fred ever did get around to kissing, even in play, she would make the most of it.

"Up a bit, that's right... now down a bit," said George as he and Fred waved their hands at Hermione, guiding her attempt to adjust Gabrielle's height. This, of course, resulted in Gabrielle pitching up and down as the twins worked at cross-purposes.

"Please. I am feeling sick," said Gabrielle clutching her over-full stomach. Fred froze and put his hands behind his back.

"Enough teasing her," called Tonks. "I can't wait around all day to watch. Oh, hang on, I guess I can."

"We are fashionably late for the shop," noted Fred.

"Still need to review the troops too," added George. "Vast empires are so tiresome at times. Boost her up a bit, Hermione."

With the moment suddenly upon her, Gabrielle had no time for second thoughts. She could see the twins begin to lean toward her. She waited for just the right moment - just a little more - then made her move. Right before George could kiss her cheek, she turned and took his kiss on the lips, more or less. Gabrielle threw her left arm around his neck to delay his escape and kissed him back. Gabrielle could hear the catcalls from Tonks and Hermione's exclamation. George pulled back in surprise, but as Gabrielle was hovering, he pulled her along. He stood and Gabrielle dropped awkwardly to the floor as Hermione ended the spell.

"Gabrielle!" cried Hermione in shock.

Gabrielle clambered to her feet and faced George with a beatific smile. Now that she had done it, though, she wasn't sure what his reaction would be. "I am not sorry," she announced. George was red in the face, and said nothing. Gabrielle hoped he wasn't too angry with her. It was worth it for a first kiss though.

"You don't have a mouthful of hair, then," groused Fred.

"Oh my, they do grow up so fast these days," snickered Tonks.

"Oy!" said Fred waving his hand in front of George's face. "You all right mate?" When George only blinked at him, Fred stepped between Gabrielle and his brother and head-butted George.

"Gaa! What in Merlin's name did you do that for?" shouted George. He rubbed the area swelling between his eyes. Gabrielle kicked at Fred's shin, but he side-stepped it easily.

"Had to save your immortal soul," replied Fred.

George stared at his twin. "You've gone round the bend. Where's that beater's bat?"

"She's a damn succubus. I've saved your life, I have."

"I am not," piped Gabrielle crossly.

"You've given me a concussion is what you mean. Anyway, if you weren't so ugly she wouldn't have turned away," accused George.

"Ugly am I? And for who is Mum arranging dates, again?" smirked Fred.

"Whom. And for whom is Mum arranging dates," corrected Hermione, though no one acknowledged it.

"What this about then? What happened to loads of charisma?" asked Tonks.

"That's a low blow, brother. Someone has to humor Mum, and I drew the short straw. And Matty's not too bad," muttered George. "It'll be your go next time."

"I'll move to Egypt first," said Fred. "If Matty's her idea of a good choice..." He shuddered.

Gabrielle's smile started to fade, and she tried to freeze it in place. She knew she should have expected that someone as interesting as George would have a girlfriend. And even if he didn't sound enthusiastic about this Matty person, Gabrielle knew he would have no problem finding another. If only, Gabrielle thought, I was older.

"Don't you know it's not polite to talk about one girlfriend in front of another?" joked Tonks. "Especially since she's stabbed you once already?"

"I believe I am in a no-win situation here," said George. "I'll be outside, rounding up the Second Corps." he gathered up the little sandwiches.

"Would that be your 'guarding gnomes'? I've been meaning to ask you two about that," said Hermione sharply.

"More of your cultural hegemony, is it? Well the Second Corps are brave, proud, and paid," noted George.

"They already have hats too," added Fred. Hermione's lips thinned at that. "Though, they had better be wearing them only indoors."

"How many Corps are there?" asked Hermione.

"Just the one," replied George. Gabrielle noticed that he would not meet her eyes. He is angry with me, thought Gabrielle.

"Why is it the Second Corps then?" queried Hermione.

"Easy. The First Corps was prouder and braver, and decided to wear their caps outside as well," replied Fred.

"And?"

"Hawks can see red from a mile off," grimaced George. "Never saw a flock of them before, or since."


	8. Road Trip

Chapter Eight - Road Trip

As the twins left to pass food out to the gnomes, Gabrielle realized there would be little to talk about besides what she had done. She should excuse herself from the table, but the heavy weight of her breakfast sapped her will to climb the stairs again. Gabrielle wasn't actually sure all the food had made it from her throat into her stomach yet; staying upright seemed prudent. Did the Weasleys, thought Gabrielle, really eat that much each morning?

Gabrielle decided to take control of the conversation. "What is Diagon Alley like?"

Hermione ignored her. "I can't believe you did that Gabrielle."

"Did what?" asked Ginny after jerking awake. Ginny sipped her tea, only to find it cold and push it away.

"Beebee here tried to suck your brother's face off," answered Tonks.

"What?" exclaimed Ginny, spraying egg.

"Why do they call you Beebee?" asked Tonks to a cringing Gabrielle.

"Only Fred does zat, and I want him to stop," said Gabrielle. "I zink I should check on Fleur." That should be safe, thought Gabrielle. Unless Mrs. Weasley had been listening at the hinges, she thought with growing dread. She remained seated.

"It was quite the sight. The twins went to give her a friendly little peck, and the next thing she has one of 'em in a headlock for a full-on snog," explained a grinning Tonks to Ginny. "I need to visit France."

"Gabrielle! Is that true?" asked Ginny. "I can't believe I missed it."

"Zat did not happen. I, eh, eh, fell. Against George. Eh, to leave, eh, Fred." claimed Gabrielle. She started to feel hot.

"Right," said Hermione disbelievingly. "Although it looked a lot closer to what Tonks said."

"You did ze same wizz Ron," accused Gabrielle.

"Gabrielle! You promised," whined Hermione. "Anyway, you are too young for George - it is inappropriate."

"I know zat," Gabrielle said peevishly. "I just wanted to..." She stopped herself, but it was too late.

"Ah, so you admit it now!" crowed Tonks. "This gets better and better. What was that about Ron?"

"Ron and I decided to, er, see each other," said Hermione.

"Ron? Ron Weasley?" doubted Tonks.

"No, you climbed on top of him..." started Gabrielle.

"That's quite enough! Anyway, what's wrong with Ron? He can be very sweet," said a pink-faced Hermione.

"I want to hear more from Gabrielle," laughed Tonks.

"I want to hear more about Gabrielle," called Ginny around a mouth full of food. She was, Gabrielle thought, eating like Ron now.

"I would like to tell zem about your night," said Gabrielle threateningly to Ginny. Ginny paled at that.

"I wonder where Harry and Ron are now?" Ginny asked quickly.

"I wonder where they are also," repeated Hermione.

Tonks looked at the three girls, and sighed. "All right, everyone's got a secret and the fun's over for me." She stood. "I'll see if any owls have been sent back with reports. You ladies can sort out the boy troubles yourself."

"You can tell us about Remus if you want," called Ginny to Tonks' retreating back. "Oh, very nice," she added at Tonks' gesture.

Ginny reached for more toast. "Do I get to hear anymore about the morning snogfest?"

"Non," said Gabrielle crossing her arms.

"What about you and Ron?" Ginny asked to Hermione.

"What was this about last night?" Hermione fired back. She crossed her arms also, and silence fell.

"Eh, what is Diagon Alley like?" suggested Gabrielle again.

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione was still talking excitedly about the bookshop on Diagon Alley when Fleur came back to the table. Gabrielle wasn't really listening anymore to the bushy-haired witch's list of rare and ancient tomes that were on display. She was thinking of the twins' joke shop, and Ginny's description of it. Gabrielle wanted to see it for herself, but couldn't see a way to ask without it sounding embarrassing. She noticed Fleur's arrival; everyone usually did. Hermione trailed off.

"I need your fore-give-ness for zee outburst," smiled Fleur. Gabrielle had to shake her head. Fleur, Gabrielle thought, has no idea how to be contrite. "(I forgot myself when I tried to use my wand on you, Gabrielle.)"

"(You are okay? He has not hurt you like yesterday has he?)" demanded Gabrielle.

"(Never say that. William would never hurt me. I had too many nightmares last night, perhaps,)" dismissed Fleur with a flick of her wrist. "(I promised William I would not correct you so often. He felt that I was forgetting that.)"

Gabrielle was still suspicious, and wondered if she could use the cloak later to check up on how Bill was treating Fleur. Right now, though, it was important to be on Fleur's good side until her hand was better. "(That is very nice of him,)" she smiled. "(My hand will be fine by tomorrow.)"

"(Yes. Molly told me what Madame Pomfrey said,)" commented Fleur. She still smiled, but now it seemed condescending. Gabrielle felt a little betrayed by Mrs. Weasley telling Fleur what had happened, but then she realized there was no good way to hide the injury. "(Why are you dressed like that?)"

"(I couldn't fit the bandages through my housecoat and I could not just wear the shirt. I did not know these slacks were too big for me.)"

Fleur pulled out her wand and advanced on Gabrielle, but then stopped. "(May I fix them so you are presentable?)"

This is new, thought Gabrielle. Fleur has never asked permission prior to using her wand before. These were positive changes, but she would definitely need to see what methods Bill used to cause them. "(Yes, go ahead.)"

Fleur cancelled the spells from the twins, and ran her wand along the seams of the slacks. Then she circled Gabrielle's knees and the bottom of the legs. "(A little tight at the knees and flared at the bottom will enhance the shape of your hips,)" noted Fleur half to her self.

"(Thank you. Eh, you aren't going to tell Maman about this, are you?)" asked Gabrielle, waving the clump of bandages.

"(No. I will not be the one to lose you Beauxbatons. And you will not tell Papa either, correct?)"

"(Yes,)" replied Gabrielle. Unless, she thought, he is hurting you.

"We will leave for zee fitting in one 'our," announced Fleur. "Ginny, you will be dressed by zen, I 'ope." With that, Fleur swept out of the room to the entry hall.

"Guess she's feeling better," said Ginny. She jabbed her fork at Hermione's plate, "Are you going to finish that?"

"If Ron didn't eat it, it may not be edible, but go ahead," replied Hermione, pushing over her plate. A few crusts and a bit of egg were all that were on it. Gabrielle wondered why Ginny just didn't go into the kitchen and get more, and asked.

"Can you imagine the state Mum must be in after having to calm Fleur down?" answered Ginny. "If I could, I wouldn't see her 'til tomorrow."

"I think I'd like to see this gnome army," said Hermione standing. "It may be the Ministry will need to raise their standing."

v - v - v - v - v

After Hermione left, Gabrielle started to ask Ginny about what happened with Harry. Ginny shushed her. "Go see what Mum is doing," Ginny whispered. "If she's not listening to the wireless then you'll have to wait." Gabrielle got up. The slacks fit much better, but were now tight around her waist from her breakfast. "Bring back some more food too," requested Ginny.

Gabrielle returned with the plate of chicken with leftover waffles stacked on it, all balanced rather precariously on the ball of bandages. "Zere is no one in ze kitchen," Gabrielle informed Ginny.

"Really? That's odd. Mum must've gone out with Bill," said Ginny accepting the plate. "Thanks. Wasn't there more chicken left?"

"Crookshanks took it. What happened last night?" asked Gabrielle.

"I'd say it went according to plan. Harry was really upset and nervous about the ritual at first - he was expecting Mum to burst in at any moment. But as soon as I took the cloak off he shut right up. He could barely stand!" laughed Ginny. "Harry can fight off the Imperius curse, but as soon as I was starkers he would do anything I said." She bit into the sandwich she had made, chewed, and swallowed. "That's a bit pathetic when you think about it."

Gabrielle wasn't sure why Ginny thought that. Fleur was able to do that to most men with her clothes on, and her Maman could too. Even her Grandmere could still do that, which, as Gabrielle recalled the last family argument, was becoming a problem as her Grandmere had taken a sudden interest in the athletic squads at the muggle university.

"I mean," continued Ginny, "what if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named decides to attack using naked witches? Harry would be defenseless. I'd bet Ron would be too."

"Do you zink it worked?"

"Hermione said we may never know for sure. But there was a faint blue glow where I touched him, at least towards the end," said Ginny. "I think that was what the woodcut showed." Her eyes took on a faraway look, and she blushed fiercely.

"What is it?" asked Gabrielle.

"Er, the picture seemed to leave - something - out," said Ginny. "It was - something - that got in the way, quite a lot." She giggled nervously.

"I do not understand."

"It's the, um... well... the, uh..." stammered Ginny. "Look... let's talk about something else."

"What did you use for blood? Zere was ze blood sacrifice."

"Oh, I just pricked my finger. Harry healed that up. It wasn't clear what to do with it anyway," shrugged Ginny. She yawned behind her hand.

"Where is ze book? It is from my Grandmere - you are going to give it back?"

"Of course! I just want to do one more, tonight."

"You should show it to me. Not all of zem are good for ze warrior," Gabrielle warned.

Ginny seemed surprised. "Really? Why is that? I suppose I had better let you check it then." Ginny stood and rubbed her eyes. "I'll nip upstairs to get dressed and have a quick nap. Should be back in time for elevensies. You might as well get ready too - don't want to set off Mum."

v - v - v - v - v

Harry had a headache. It was not brought on by the scar on his forehead though it had bothered him off and on all summer. The source of the pain this time was much closer and more tangible.

"I suppose elevensies will be out of the question too," grumbled Ron. Harry corrected himself: the sources of the pain were very close.

"Ron, you ate breakfast only a few hours ago. And had half of Hermione's," reminded Harry. "This is taking long enough as it is. Stopping to eat will make it longer."

"Never said we had to stop. We could go to a muggle get-away shop. There's plenty of time to eat while Bit Stupid's off playing."

"It's takeaway, Ron," corrected Harry. He wasn't exactly sure where they were, but based on the view of the small village below he guessed they had travelled all of a quarter mile in the last half hour. If it wasn't for the couple apparition legs, he was sure he would still be able to see the Burrow.

The two boys were sitting by the edge of a small copse of trees on a hill overlooking the village. Harry was sitting at least. Though they were both disillusioned, he could see the faint blurring that had to be Ron with the edge of his vision. If he concentrated hard enough Harry knew he could pick out more details, but that only made his head hurt more.

"Takeaway, right. Er, I don't suppose you have some of that muggle money on you?" asked Ron. "All I've got are a few sickles."

Harry remembered a time when Ron would rather have done without than ask about money. Probably, thought Harry, because Ron didn't seem to regard the muggle money as real. The goblins certainly did. "Yeah, I've got about ten pounds."

"Is that the muggle galleon or the muggle knut?"

"It's enough for a meal for me or a snack for you."

"Some of us are still growing," said Ron. There was a pause. He's probably stretching and flexing his arms, thought Harry.

"No one can see you, you know. Anyway, Hermione's not here," teased Harry.

"Don't know what you're talking about," said Ron. There was a tell-tale thud as he apparently sat back down, though. "I'd say we have at least two more stops around the village before we apparate again. Plenty of time. Next stop you fly in behind a shop, drop the disillusionment, grab the grub, and the redo the disillusionment and come back. Then I, er, we eat - simple."

"If it is simple, why don't you do it?"

"Humph. You know my disillusionment spell is a little off."

"Just wanted to hear that again."

"Bastard. I'd thump you if I could find you."

v - v - v - v - v

A barely visible ripple in the air caught Harry's eye, and he pulled out his wand and turned to face it. A swirl of sparks formed in the air - it was the signal that Savage used.

"Potter? Weasley?" said a gruff, disembodied voice loudly. "Any problems?"

"No, no problems right here," started Harry.

"Except with the girls," added Ron.

"But we've got that covered," sighed Harry.

"We're giving them pearls," ended Ron.

"Good show! Next stop we'll change the code verse. Now mount up ladies! Stay close and follow the sparks - make those leg-overs crisp, too. I want to hear those cloaks snapping! Come on, girls. Let's see what you can do!" shouted the disillusioned auror.

Why, Harry wondered again, is he shouting? We're supposed to be travelling in secret and he's yelling loud enough to be heard for a bloody mile. Trailing sparks in the sky like a firework didn't seem very stealthy either. Should have just asked the twins to take me there, thought Harry. He leaned forward on his broom and shot after the auror. The flying was fun, if not meaningful. Bitters Savage rode a customized Nimbus 2000 and, in Harry's opinion, was trying to show off. Harry had no trouble keeping up on his Firebolt, and since he could just barely tell where Bitters was he was not fooled when the auror faked some broom maneuvers using only the sparks. Ron was on his old Cleansweep 11. Harry was very sure Ron skipped all the zigzags and corkscrews Bitters and he were doing, since Ron always arrived at the same time they did.

The flying helped clear Harry's head. He was exhausted, but since he was supposed to have had an early night, he couldn't complain. At least, not until he came up with an explanation that sounded good. Ron would believe nightmares, but he wasn't going to have Savage believe him a nervous nancy-boy. He would probably get a loud 'Good show!' with a wink and nod from Savage if he implied anything with Ginny. Then Ron would beat him to a pulp.

It was hard not to think of Ginny though. It was good they were spending the day mostly invisible. While he and Ron waited for Savage to 'reconnoiter in force', Harry would find himself daydreaming about her, in vivid details. When Ron would snap him back to reality with whinging about hunger or 'Bit Stupid', Harry would realize he was grinning like a fool. Better that Ron didn't see that, or the adjustments Harry needed to make to sit comfortably, so no questions needed to be side-stepped. Harry couldn't believe how stupid he had been at Dumbledore's funeral, telling Ginny he wanted to break up. Her notes during the summer were polite, even neutral, but each one increased his regret. The idea of breaking up was forgotten barely an hour after waking up at the Burrow. It's really good, thought Harry, that Ginny is so much smarter than me.

v - v - v - v - v

The line of sparks ended beneath a small stand of trees on the other side of a low stone wall from the village. Harry estimated the flight to have been about twenty minutes. Checking the village landmarks to orient himself, he could just make out their last stopping point peeking out from behind an old stables. It couldn't have been more than half a mile away.

"Mr. Savage, do you mind me asking you something?" asked Harry. He faced the two blurs ahead of him. The one on the left was a blur more at ground-level than the one on the right - the left was probably Bitters as he wore robes.

"Potter? Weasley? Any problems?" barked the auror.

"Not so much a problem, no, as a mystery. Why didn't we just apparate? I can see our last stop from here. And, why do we need to be here?" continued Harry.

"Potter? Weasley? Any problems?" repeated Savage more loudly. There was a quiet snort from the right.

"I have a bit of a problem with the fact that a muggle could walk twice as fast as we are travelling by broom," asserted Harry. "It all seems a bit stu..." The sudden sound of Ron coughing stopped him.

"The code verse, boys, now!" shouted the auror.

"That's another thing," interjected Ron. "Why aren't you identifying yourself to us with something that can't be seen a mile away? Anyone can copy the sparks. It'd be too late for us before anyone gave you the wrong bleeding poem."

There was silence for a moment. Harry figured that Savage was building up to something. Whether that something was agreement or rage was hard to see when he was only a blur, but Harry guessed it would be hard to find anyone to bet against rage.

"I see," said the auror in a low voice. "Scrimgeour mentioned your lack of respect for authority. A bit of luck here and there and you know more than the rest of us, eh what?

"Well Potter," boomed Savage; he went back to shouting. "I've broken more than a few snot-nosed recruits. Think you know more than me? Well let's have a dance, girl! Drop the disillusion and take your best shot - I promise I won't break many bones! Moody let you trick him, but I won't."

"Why drop the disillusion spell? I can see you just fine," said Harry calmly. He really didn't have anything against Bitters - he was just frustrated with the slow pace.

"You bloody well can't," snapped Savage.

"I can. I know you didn't do those barrel rolls before the leg-over, too."

"And now calling me a liar! Well I believe you're bluffing. Hex me if you can!"

Harry could see the left blur rise slowly into the air. Bitters was back on his broomstick. The auror was about twenty feet up, Harry noted, probably watching for a flash or spell-trail. Harry remounted his broom and drifted forward slowly, so as not to cause a breeze, until he was under the mostly invisible auror. He sent a nonverbal stinging hex straight up, then veered away in case Savage dropped. Above, Bitters let out a curiously high-pitched, yodelling howl that trailed away to a groan.

A minute passed before Bitters became fully visible. His face was purple, and he was hunched over a little at the waist. "Hexing a superior officer inna ham and eggs! Snap his wand for that," he muttered before bellowing, "Show yourself, you rotten little doxy! Let's have this out then!"

"_Stupefy_," incanted Ron. Savage fell in a heap.

"Ron! That isn't going to calm him down," exclaimed Harry.

"Already has. While you two are having fun having a go at each other, I'm dying of hunger. And he has to bring up ham and eggs," complained Ron. "Something's frying down there and I want it. Disillusion him again, or dig a big hole and drop him in it - I don't care, but let's get something to eat."

v - v - v - v - v

Harry hefted the plastic bag with the three orders of fish and chips from the counter, and headed out to the street. The village was bustling close to lunch. There was a fair amount of traffic on the roadway as well as foot traffic. Harry had drifted in on his broom following his nose to find the shop. Now the smell of his load and its nearness was making him hungry too. He slipped behind the shop and found his broom. Peering around at the smelly skips onto which closed and darkened windows looked, Harry decided to take a short-cut and apparated back.

Harry reappeared with a crack, close to the trees. A slight blur shouted an obscenity in Ron's voice and dived to the ground.

"Ron?" asked Harry. He slipped among the trees. Should have disillusioned myself first, thought Harry.

"Where did you hit Bit Stupid?" asked Ron.

"In the ham and eggs," replied Harry. "Who did Fred and George set on fire?"

"Fleur's little sister. Oh, that smells good."

"Sorry, don't know that one. Guess I'll have to hex you too."

"Think you can?" challenged Ron. "I've knocked out two aurors in the last two days. I'm a force to be reckoned with, I am."

"I'll mention that to Moody. Hasn't Savage come round yet?" asked Harry, gesturing to the apparently empty ground while speaking to seemingly no one.

"A couple of times, yeah. But I, er, didn't want to have to listen to him. He's a bit shouty." explained Ron. He cancelled the spell that hid him and grabbed for the bag.

"Hey, one of those is mine," said Harry as Ron started going through the food. "You know, when he gets up he's going to be right ticked at us." Harry cancelled the disillusion on the stunned auror.

"At 'ou," said Ron before swallowing. "He forgot I was even there. He should be mad at himself. _Stupefy_." There had been a groan from the auror that the spell silenced.

"Enough, Ron!" Harry cried.

"Sorry. It's just that he'll be even more of a nightmare if he finds us having a snack."

"This is lunch, and we might as well get the shouting out of the way so we can get moving again." Maybe it would be better, Harry wondered, to go back to the road and flag down the Knight bus.

"Just this for lunch?" asked Ron in dismay.

"And the other one too. Now, no more stunning. Just hold his wand."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle had been a muggle car before. While the floo connection at Delacour manor was being repaired the Touliers regularly picked her up and dropped her off in one. It had been more disconcerting at first rather than frightening. Magical travel was full of suddenness - starts, stops, and turns. The muggle vehicle was nothing in comparison. It was the noise, the smells, and the vibration that had made her uneasy at first. The way the controls seemed so small compared to the size of the car, and the way the car leaned in turns as if it didn't want to listen, had worried her. It had only taken a few trips to realize that the car wasn't a barely trained beast trying to turn on its driver, and riding in a car was not a problem.

The car the Ministry had provided for the Weasleys was something else entirely. While it made the same sounds and smells that were familiar to Gabrielle, this car went much faster than the other cars on the road. And it came a lot closer to, well, everything than Monsieur Toulier's car did. It was a very alarming trip. Hermione seemed to share that view based on her whitened knuckles, but she chatted calmly with Tonks and Mrs. Weasley. Both women appeared completely unfazed by the trip. Ginny slept again. Fleur sat next to Gabrielle and muttered complaints in quiet French. While Gabrielle and the others were tossed about the car as it wove through London traffic, Fleur managed to sit serenely, as if she were on her own broom. Gabrielle flopped over into Fleur's lap during one U-turn. Fleur poked Gabrielle's abdomen with a finger and pronounced, "You are eating too much. Eet eez making you fat." And to think, thought Gabrielle, I was worried for her this morning.

Gabrielle sighed when they entered the Leaky Cauldron. The street outside had been busy with, she supposed, muggles shopping or on their way to lunch. The shops were neat and inviting, with colorful signs. It was vibrant. The Leaky Cauldron looked dingy and run-down on the outside. It was very much like all the other wizard-owned shops she had ever been to. The inside was clean at least, but darker than it needed to be and just old in age and style. Since the exterior needed to be concealed, Gabrielle supposed, perhaps it had to be ugly. But the insides could surely be updated to something more modern.

The group had lunch at a large table toward the back. There wasn't much on the menu. There wasn't even a menu, just the taciturn old innkeeper. He was friendly to Mrs. Weasley at least. Gabrielle couldn't eat the crumpets that came with the tea. She was still full from breakfast. It did not go to waste, because Ginny, finished with her gross-looking stew, was still eating everything that was in range. In fact, Gabrielle let Ginny finish her tea also. There was a coffeehouse some ways down the street and Gabrielle just knew Mrs. Weasley would let her go if she begged, but Gabrielle had no British muggle money.

Diagon Alley looked more like a muggle shopping district than Gabrielle had expected. Not a fancy shopping district by any means, but not nearly as tarnished as the outside of the Leaky Cauldron had been. Ginny and Hermione pointed out their favorite shops and talked of previous trips. The only things marring the scene were several shuttered shops and the lack of people. They passed only a few groups of witches and wizards who were moving about warily.

"It's not been this bad since Sirius escaped Azkaban," said Tonks to Mrs. Weasley. Hermione frowned at this.

Gabrielle was caught craning her neck to better see down the street. "It's number ninety-three, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm not sure we'll have time to stop in."

v - v - v - v - v

Madame Malkin greeted them directly when they entered the shop. There were no other customers at the moment. Gabrielle recognized the Hogwarts school robes on the racks and was surprised that they were already marked down in price. She gathered up several Teen Witch Weekly magazines, took one of the chairs, and prepared for one of Fleur's marathon shopping sieges.

Paging through the first magazine, Gabrielle realized it was very similar to muggle magazines she read while shopping with Fleur in France. Except, of course, all the photos had moving people in them. She also realized there was no equivalent publication for French witches, and considered why that might be. Gabrielle had noticed that most witches and wizards in France lived as part of the muggle community - as much living in the manor houses could be considered to be part of anything. Only Chamoix was really set apart. Most magical towns on the continent had been decimated by Grindelwald and his unwitting muggle allies. Perhaps only because Britain had remained mostly unscathed, and still more apart from muggles, could such a magazine exist.

Her deep thoughts on whether it was better to be a minority in a majority or a majority in a minority were distracted by the advertisement on the bottom of the page she flipped to. It was for Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and showed George and Fred in outlandishly bright, green robes jumping about while young-looking wizards in Hogwarts robes demonstrated the Skiving Snack-Boxes. Gabrielle recognized some of their effects. She couldn't help but smile at the antics.

Madame Malkin returned from the back and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. Right behind her, Fleur glided in. It was difficult to look at her directly; she was, in a literal sense, stunningly beautiful. The white, luminescent fabric clung to her torso in a tight bodice, while fine streamers of the same material writhed around her legs like a cold, white flame. When she moved they fluttered out behind her, giving a hint of long, lithe legs. Fleur smiled openly, obviously pleased.

"Eet eez exactly what I wanted," praised Fleur.

"It that dress even legal?" asked Tonks. "You're going to kill half the wizards invited outright, and Bill will have to finish off the rest of the drooling mob."

"Zank you," said Fleur. "Ginny, you will be next. Come."

Gabrielle was surprised at how little time it had taken Fleur, then remembered that this was the final fitting. The arduous process of choosing the dress had been done earlier, probably with poor Mrs. Weasley along.

Seeing Fleur's dress left Gabrielle excited about the prospect of wearing something so beautiful. She had been measured for the bride's maid dress, but had not really heard much about it. Fleur would not bother with Gabrielle's opinion anyway. Gabrielle went back to skimming the magazines. She was watching out for more adverts for the twins' joke shop. Gabrielle was surprised at how often Harry was featured in stories and pictures. He did seem like such a private person. Most pictures had him playing quidditch so maybe he did not realize. Gabrielle had to wonder what the hippogriff tattoo looked like.

Hermione got up and drifted over to the gowns. She rifled through them, and pulled out a light blue gown and held it up to herself.

"Oh, so he's asked, has he?" asked Tonks with a wicked grin. Hermione glared at her.

"I'll be telling him tonight. That will work better," Hermione huffed. Tonks snorted.

"What is this about?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Nothing. I was just looking. Anyway, I haven't the galleons on me for this kind of dress," replied Hermione.

"Got a new beau?" suggested Mrs. Weasley. "Who is he? What's he like?" Hermione ducked down behind a rack, pretending not to hear.

"Actually, you've known him for years," winked Tonks.

"Have I? I can't see how that can be. I haven't met many of Hermione's..." Mrs. Weasley trailed off. A pained expression crossed her face. "Harry?"

"Close," said Tonks. Hermione rustled the gowns in irritation.

Gabrielle could see the relief in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, then the confusion. "Close? Well it wouldn't be Percy," said the Weasley mother with a catch in her voice. "Fred? I suppose opposites do attract - no, George! He's always been a bit sweeter than Fred, and very sharp. Very practical man. I could see you two hitting it off..."

"It is Ron!" blurted Gabrielle. Tonks laughed again and Gabrielle's face heated.

"Ron? My Ron?" asked Mrs. Weasley in surprise.

"Fine," snapped Hermione with a nasty look toward Gabrielle. "It's Ron. I've fancied him for a while. He's sweet, he's strong, and..."

"He plays quidditch?" added Tonks.

"Yes, that too." Hermione was getting quite pink.

"Someone else has their eyes on George, Molly," smirked Tonks. Gabrielle raised the magazine and ignored her. Gabrielle hoped Hermione wasn't going to curse her again.

"Well Ron certainly is very lucky," smiled Mrs. Weasley. "It is a little surprising given you two were fighting like kneazles and crups."

Hermione made to answer, but was cut off by shouting from the back. "Leave off, will you? It's bloody tight enough!" cried Ginny. Mrs. Weasley jumped up and disappeared into the back.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle looked in the mirror and blinked her eyes rapidly to hold back the tears. The dress had looked so good on Ginny. She had come out from the dressing room flushed with anger. Fleur was right behind her complaining of Ginny's eating habits and declaring that there would be nothing for breakfast the day of the wedding besides tea and a single croissant. But Ginny had looked wonderful. The pale, shimmering gold of the dress made her face and hair glow. The lace-up bodice fitted her curves perfectly, and while the well above the knee length made Mrs. Weasley frown it emphasized the matching pale gold ribbons winding up her calfs from the sandals. It was the kind of dress Gabrielle dreamed of finding in Paris. It was a dress for mature young women, not little girls. When Fleur called that it was Gabrielle's turn, Gabrielle almost jumped from her seat in excitement. Normally she would have dreaded being under Fleur's glare, especially since her shirt needed to be magically enlarged to allow the bandages through, but she was looking forward to blooming like a flower in the wondrous dress.

So it was far more than disappointment that Gabrielle felt when she stood in front of the mirror. It was the crushing of hopes and dreams. Where the tight bodice showed off Ginny's curves and bust, it only highlighted Gabrielle's lack of them. All Gabrielle could see were skinny shoulders and sharp elbows. The length that made Mrs. Weasley tsk at Ginny's shapely legs made Gabrielle's look like sticks interrupted only by bony knees. Ginny had been all curves; Gabrielle saw she was all knobby joints. It was horrible. Gabrielle had to wipe her eyes.

"What's the matter dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"I am ze bowtruckle," sniffed Gabrielle. Now she wished Fleur had kicked her out of the wedding party. This was awful.

"No. You look, er, nice. It's a good color for your skin," reassured Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle could see the color did add warmth to her skin. It was just that there was too much of her skin visible, along with the bones underneath.

"Eet eez not a good look," declared Fleur. "We will need zee padding. Much padding, I zink."

"A sack would be better," moaned Gabrielle. "I am ridiculous."

Fleur waved her hand dismissively. "Next to me no one will notice you. Ze flowers you will carry will add to your, your... (profile). You will be fine in photographs if you smile, and you can wear ze colors from Fred and George in your 'air so people will look at your face. Now, walk to ze wall and return." Gabrielle complied, very surprised at the lack of stinging criticism from her sister. "Yes, much padding," sighed Fleur as Gabrielle walked away.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry, Ron, and the now silent Savage landed in a field next to the shadowy trees that marked the start of the Forbidden Forest. This was a side Harry had not seen before. They had skirted around the very edges of Hogsmeade, and if Harry had been asked he would have guessed that they were on the side opposite to where the path from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade was. Harry could have asked Savage, but the auror had only spoken in terse bits of instructions and exaggerated noises of exasperation since he had regained consciousness. Bitters was not happy about finding himself on the ground while Harry and Ron sat talking of quidditch. He was less happy when Ron offered him his wand with a grin, and downright morose when Ron took offense to his trying to grab it away, sending Bitters back to the ground with an arm used to batting away quaffles. Harry had stepped between them at that point and reminded both that he had someplace to go and wanted to get there.

Savage's exasperation was aimed at Ron. Now that the broom flights were simple, direct flights bereft of acrobatics, the group was limited by Ron's speed. Harry could have pointed out that they were still making better time than before, but Bitters was upset enough. Harry had to agree that the Cleansweep had to go, though. He would buy the latest in the Nimbus series and loan it to Ron. Or even get a Firebolt - it would do no one good if Ron couldn't keep up if they were chased.

The group also no longer stopped between segments. The formerly vital 'reconnaissance in force' was now done with quick sprints to the fore before setting off again. While it meant Harry couldn't rest much, it also meant he couldn't dwell on Ginny. That was probably good as he had thought he had seen her three times while getting the food. Harry had even caught up to the last girl out in the front of the shop and tapped her on the shoulder. She wasn't Ginny. Her name had been Jenny, she worked as a receptionist at the local hospital, her family owned a small farm outside the village, and she wanted to know if Harry was staying nearby. She seemed very disappointed when Harry said he was only passing through. She gave him a flyer for a lecture on coping with seasonal depression. Harry wasn't even sure why he thought Ginny would be in the village. She had sworn to him that she would stay out of the fight between him and Voldemort.

They headed into the forest, Bitters leading the way with Harry and Ron behind. Harry did a discreet point-me spell just to be sure of where they were headed. He could see large webs up in the branches of the trees. The acromantula colony was probably out of control now that Aragog had died, thought Harry. He was going to point out the webs to Ron, but one look at Ron's pale face beaded with sweat said it was unnecessary. Harry wondered what a good spell against the huge spiders would be. Thankfully it was still early afternoon. The deep shadows were still ominous, but there was a lot less darkness for things to be in than at night and they saw nothing.

Not, thought Harry, that hearing things while not seeing them was any better in daylight. The skittering noises, in particular, were tough on Ron. Savage was making so much noise himself while taking his anger out on the forest flora that Harry figured it was unlikely the auror had heard those snaps. The problem with individual sounds is that it was almost impossible to tell which direction whatever made them was going. With Bitters doing his best troll imitation the group was making good time through the dense woods, but it made it difficult to hear any second sounds that would give a clue as to whether or not whatever was lurking was moving away or following. The hoofbeats, Harry noted, were more definite.

Harry lightly touched Ron's shoulder. "Ron," said Harry.

"Gaa!" cried Ron, jumping to the side. He spun around, saw Harry, and hissed, "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, sorry. Look, I think the centaurs are tracking us. Did you hear anything?"

"Bloody marvellous. I haven't been listening - I was too busy watching the bloody webs." Ron pointed at the vast sheets above them.

"Mr. Savage," called Harry. The auror had continued on.

"What now? Going too fast for you again?" growled Bitters irritatedly.

"The centaurs are following us. We probably should..." began Harry.

"Need a change in nappy, do you?" snapped Savage. "Centaurs - so what? I'll just conjure some carrots to distract 'em. Go right to apples if I have to." He turned to go.

"Have you ever met a centaur?" demanded Harry.

"I don't go for livestock," said Savage. He continued deeper into the forest.

"This'll be a nightmare," muttered Ron. The two boys followed Savage's trail of broken branches and slashed brush. They caught up with him after he rounded a rock outcrop that led into an area of fallen trees. Savage stood with his wand up in front two centaurs.

"Clear off! Go on! Or don't them ears work?" shouted Savage waving his wand. Harry recognized the gray centaur as Magorian, and the one with wild black hair as Bane. Magorian looked down at Savage with disgust. Bane was silent but red-faced already.

"Good afternoon, Magorian. Good afternoon, Bane," said Harry politely and, he hoped, respectfully. He knew the centaurs did not like wizards, but they had saved him twice.

"I knew it would be you," said Bane in a menacing voice.

"What is this?" asked Magorian, pointing to Bitters as if he was something slimy coughed up by Crookshanks.

"Sergeant Bitters Savage, auror-at-arms, representing the Ministry of Magic's long arm, I am. You an' old Dobbins here are impedin'..." said Savage loudly.

"We call him 'Bit Stupid'," interrupted Ron.

Savage whirled around to face Ron. "You little turd! I'll be gettin' my own back after I see off the fillies."

Bane exploded, "Why must we suffer these insults from such stupid creatures? It is like listening to jarveys. Let us kill them now!" Savage spun again to face Bane.

Magorian ignored the others and addressed Harry. "You have been warned before about trespassing in our forest. Yet you are here again with more Ministry fools. It shows the arrogance of your race, the lack of intelligence, and the need for a lesson."

"I'm not with the Ministry!" exclaimed Ron. "I'm just a friend."

"Look, I'm sorry about all of this. I'm, er, not allowed to travel without escort," said Harry. That just sounded pathetic, Harry thought.

"It has been foreseen," reminded Bane to Magorian.

"Yes, but not clearly," Magorian replied. He addressed Harry again. "I recognize you two as students of the school, but you are grown. You should know better. Why would you follow this?" Magorian indicated Savage with a sweep of his arm.

"Enough of this. We need to be moving. You can talk to your pets later," blustered Savage. He bellowed at the centaurs, "Now be off! Find some hay to eat or I'll brand your backsides." Bitters brought his wand up again.

"Insolent fool! Are you so very stupid?" roared Magorian.

"They must be killed!" thundered Bane.

"I'll do the killing here," snarled Savage. "_Percutio!_"

"No!" cried Harry. Magorian jump aside but the piercing curse struck him. Blood poured from his side.

"Kill them," the stricken centaur commanded.

Time seemed to slow down for Harry then. He could see more centaurs rise from behind a pile of fallen logs, bows already drawn. He could see the centaurs let loose the arrows, and could almost see the arrows in flight. Harry shoved Ron away. Ron still outweighed him by several stone, and didn't move far. An arrow skimmed Harry's left shoulder, ripping open the sleeve and leaving a line of glistening red. An arrow struck Ron in his right breast and he spun to the ground with a shriek. Savage twirled his wand but an arrow hit him dead-center in his chest. He staggered back and crumpled to the ground.

Harry dived to the ground next to Ron. More arrows sank into the dirt behind them. The fallen log in front of them was meager cover. "_Accio_ bloody great log!" bellowed Harry. A massive log behind the line of centaurs lurched into the air and sailed through the centaurs preparing to fire again, forcing them to the ground.

It only took a second for Harry to see that the log would crush him and Ron, too. He screamed out a banishment charm and the trunk of the ancient tree was sent back the other way, mowing down the centaurs who were getting back up. Harry realized that keeping the centaurs off-balance would stop them from using their bows, and would give him time. _Levicorpus_ - _libracorpus_, thought Harry and he flicked his wand over and over rapidly. The centaurs struggling to their feet after the battering from the log were now dragged high into the air by a hind leg, and then dropped immediately.

It didn't take long before the centaurs stayed down. The combination of a human torso and the heavy body of a horse was not a good one to deal with falling face first to the ground. The snapping sounds were not only from the dead branches on the forest floor. The centaurs were cursing and groaning too. With the lull, Harry tried to stop the bleeding from Ron. Ron was still groaning feebly - Savage made neither sound nor movement. "_Episky! Episky!_" incanted Harry desperately. It seemed to help, or Ron was running out of blood.

But Harry couldn't see a way to escape. He could hear more centaurs coming. The rocks behind him prevented the centaurs from surrounding them, but he and Ron were still cornered. Ron moved his lips as if he was speaking. Harry bent over to listen and an arrow grazed his back. Hopefully not his last words, thought Harry grimly as he went back to flicking his wand. It flashed through Harry's mind, between flicks, that he didn't feel much pain from the arrows. That could be shock, he decided, and if he was in shock then Ron was bound to be too. Harry recalled that that was bad, but not why or what to do. He wondered if 'accio help' would do any good. Or perhaps 'accio Hagrid'. Even Buckbeak would be a help, or the thestrals. They would be attracted by Ron's blood, thought Harry. Then he wondered what else would be attracted. Harry remembered the brooms were hidden near the clearing. He could probably fly them out, if the centaurs would quit shooting arrows. He needed to get to a more protected area to get Ron on the broom, though. Savage looked like a lost cause.

A new sound filtered through the moans of the injured. It sounded like the bleat of a sheep, except it was a constant note. And it was getting closer; Harry could hear something large crashing through the vegetation. The arrows stopped - most had been badly aimed as the centaurs avoided showing themselves. Suddenly Harry recognized the new sound. It was a car horn. It was Mr. Weasley's old Ford Anglia. It was help.

The light blue car burst through the underbrush and skidded to a stop just around the rock outcrop. It flung open its doors. The car wasn't very far away. They could probably make it, thought Harry, with a diversion. "_Incendio! Incendio!_" barked Harry. The fallen logs near the centaurs burst into flame. "_Mobilcorpus_," said Harry, levitating Ron. He magicked Ron ahead of him and hurried toward the car.

They were only a few yards away when an arrow skipped off Harry's side and buried itself into Ron's abdomen. There was nothing more than a high-pitched whimper from Ron. Anger bloomed in Harry, replacing fear. He turned to face the attackers. Bane's arrow hit him square in the chest. Harry stumbled back; Ron dropped to the ground. Harry was only dimly aware that the arrow had not gone through him because white-hot rage filled him. He could see Magorian, leaning against the rocks for support, nocking another arrow while Bane stood in shock. Harry lashed out, "_Sectumsempra! Sectumsempra!_" Huge slashes opened on the centaurs' chests, and they staggered backwards before falling to the ground.

Not looking back, Harry levitated Ron the rest of the way to the waiting car and shoved him into the back seat as carefully as his shaking arms allowed. Harry climbed into the passenger side. "Can you get us to the castle?" pleaded Harry unsteadily. He rolled down the window and began flicking his wand again. The car beeped its horn twice and sped off.


	9. Longing For Home

Chapter Nine - Longing For Home

It was bad before, thought Gabrielle, but this was worse. The disappointment over the way she looked in the dress was gone. All she felt now was a desperate desire to escape and hide or wear all her clothes at once. Standing in front of the mirror with three women discussing one's deficiencies, all the while poking and mashing about what little one has, will do that. Gabrielle hated the phrase 'perhaps like this' because it meant that whoever said it was about to manhandle her. And, how could she complain? She did not want to look like sticks wrapped in gold leaf. Mrs. Weasley, Madame Malkin, and Fleur all agreed that her lack of bust needed padding. But there had been considerable debate as to how much to add and how to squeeze what was there. Fleur's idea was the most painful, Mrs. Weasley's idea was the least effective, and Madame Malkin's idea was the most embarrassing. Each was demonstrated several times. The size and shape of her rump had been discussed for quite a while also, and its malleability. Fortunately, Madame Malkin had no prosthetics in stock. "Not many witches want more of that these days," explained Madame Malkin. An additional draping charm would be the fix. Nothing could be done about her legs though, if Gabrielle and Ginny were to match.

The fitting had taken quite a while, and when they returned to the front of the shop Gabrielle was ready to go back to the Burrow. Hermione and Tonks were again examining the blue dress Hermione had looked at before. Unbelievably, Ginny appeared to be asleep again.

"You wore blue at ze Tri-Wizard ball, no?" recalled Fleur. "Zen you can not wear eet again."

"What? Why ever not? That was more than a year and a half ago," said Hermione.

"Gowns must not repeat. You will look nice in pur-pel. Ah, 'ere is one," said Fleur pulling out a sleek silk dress.

Hermione looked put-out, but held the dress up to herself. "Er, is this all there is? Where is the back?"

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Eet eez a stylish dress for the zee young woman. Eet eez ze frame for ze picture zat eez you, not ze blanket. Go, put it on."

"No, that's not necessary. I didn't bring enough - oh my!" exclaimed Hermione looking at the tag. "I certainly didn't bring enough!"

"There could be a discount. It wouldn't hurt to try it on," wheedled Madame Malkin. "A lovely young witch like yourself deserves something lovely."

"Go ahead, dear. We have a little extra time," said Mrs. Weasley. Hermione looked at the dress dubiously, but allowed herself to be pushed towards the dressing rooms by Fleur and Tonks.

Gabrielle thought, extra time? If there is extra time, perhaps Ginny could take me to George and Fred's shop. Gabrielle went over and sat next to Ginny, and started nudging the older girl with her elbow when Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking. As bony as she was she was sure that Ginny would feel it. Madame Malkin and Mrs. Weasley moved over to the corner by the window to chat. Gabrielle attacked again.

"Mm... 'Agnok the... 'gly..." mumbled Ginny. Gabrielle wondered at how no one else thought Ginny's behavior unusual.

"Hermione," called Tonks, "are you ready yet?"

"I'm not coming out," replied Hermione.

"Oh come on, ducks. It's only us girls."

"No, that's all right. There's a mirror back here and everything."

"Shall we come and get you?"

"No! No need for that. I'll be out in a moment."

"We want to see the dress on you. Come out, or else," threatened Tonks.

"Or else what? Anyway, I don't like this dress so it doesn't matter!"

"_Accio_ Hermione's denims!" cried Tonks with a laugh. There was a squeal of protest from Hermione as the item of clothing sailed to the auror.

"_Accio_ 'Ermione's blouse!" added Fleur.

"Oh very funny. Ha ha," complained Hermione.

"Perhaps now you will keep your 'orrid cat from being sick in my shoes?" asked Fleur.

"Uh oh. Another wand in the back pocket," noted Tonks holding up Hermione's wand. "Moody will be so disappointed."

"You two are being real cows. I don't want to come out," said Hermione unhappily. Gabrielle continued to elbow Ginny, but was paying more attention to the scene unfolding in front of her.

"I can see I'll have to get you. What was that spell Harry was on about - levicorpus?" teased Tonks.

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Hermione.

"I'm coming in now," announced Tonks. She didn't move, but stomped her feet on the floor.

"Do you mind, Gabrielle?" yawned Ginny. "You're hurting me."

"All right! All right!" wailed Hermione. She appeared at the door to the back. "There, you've seen me." Gabrielle's eyes widened - she could see why Hermione hesitated. It was barely a dress. The loose folds of rich fabric that made up the neckline dipped so low that the bra Hermione still wore cut across it several inches from the bottom of the opening. The dress was very short, also.

"Hermione!" breathed Ginny in surprise. Tonks whistled.

Fleur went over to her. "Ze color is perhaps too bright, and you will need prop-air shoes. Eet eez a good fit, zough. Turn around," ordered Fleur, pulling on Hermione's shoulder.

"Good fit? My bum is sticking out!" protested Hermione as she turned. Gabrielle saw that the dress was backless, bordering on bottomless, and Hermione's underwear was plainly visible.

"Of course, you will not wear zis or zis," noted Fleur, pulling on the elastic on Hermione's undergarments and letting them snap back. "Eez eet not dramatic?"

"It's daring, er, very daring, I should think," said Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione sprang away from Fleur. "It's drafty is what it is. I'm not going anywhere starkers under something smaller than a bath towel. I admit the color is smashing, but I'm not comfortable in it. At all."

"You will turn many heads," suggested Fleur.

"I don't want to if I have to dress like a French tart to do so," snapped Hermione. She clamped a hand over her mouth before adding a sheepish, "Sorry."

Fleur looked at her haughtily. "(This from someone with no tan lines.)" Gabrielle saw Hermione gasp at that. Fleur stepped to a rack and selected another dress with barely a look. "Try zis, if you wish to blend."

Hermione took the frock pushed into her hands. Gabrielle could see it easily used twice the amount of fabric as the first. "Can't I have my clothes? I already said I can't buy anything."

"That's all right, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "You can put it on my tab if you find something you like."

"Er, about running tabs, er, I'm, uh, very sorry, but, er, there's sort of a new, er, policy," said Madame Malkin uneasily.

Mrs. Weasley's expression hardened and she glared at the squat witch, "The Weasleys have always made good on their tabs. We have always shopped here. In the past."

Madame Malkin looked about to cry. "Oh Molly. It's just that they come and look at the receipts. And if there isn't enough... the shop, my family..." Mrs. Weasley's glare was replaced by concern and she pulled the stricken witch into an embrace. Madame Malkin couldn't contain a sob. "After... after Florean... I don't know what to do," moaned Madame Malkin.

"Extortion. That's what it is," said Hermione quietly.

"The Ministry's been useless, too," complained Madame Malkin. She looked up at Mrs. Weasley. "Sorry, Molly."

"No apologies needed Cordelia. We all know not all parts of the Ministry are run the same," soothed Mrs. Weasley. She turned to Hermione, "Go try it on, dear. It's getting late."

Gabrielle thought, now it is getting late? The drama between Hermione and Fleur had made Gabrielle almost forget about wanting to see the joke shop. She leaned over to Ginny, "Ask you mozzer if you can show me ze Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Please?"

Ginny looked at Gabrielle, "Why can't you ask?"

Why can't I, wondered Gabrielle. She hadn't really considered it. Having Ginny ask just seemed like the best idea. If she had to admit it, she felt that she would be ridiculed if she asked for herself, because of the incident in the morning. No, thought Gabrielle, I will be thought of as a French tart if I ask. "I can not ask, not, eh, today. Please Ginny?" replied Gabrielle.

"Oh, all right. I can't say no after all your help," smiled Ginny. Louder, she asked, "Mum? Can I take Gabrielle down to the twins'?"

"What? No. We need to stay together," replied Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle sighed.

"It isn't that far," argued Ginny. "It's the middle of the day, and we wouldn't stay long."

"We stay together. The Ministry driver will expect us soon anyway. You especially need to stay close - Beebee doesn't even have a wand," asserted Tonks.

Ginny's eyes glinted with anger and the tips of her ears reddened. Gabrielle was amazed that Ginny said nothing else, but grabbed a magazine and held it in front of her face. It was upside-down, Gabrielle noticed, but since Ginny was just glowering at the page it probably didn't matter.

"What is zis Beebee?" asked Fleur.

"The twins call her that," replied Tonks with a shrug.

"Fred calls me zat and I want you to stop too," said Gabrielle. Her challenging look was met by smirks from Fleur and Tonks. Gabrielle put up a magazine.

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione was less reticent about coming out from the dressing area. It was obvious to Gabrielle that Hermione was pleased with the way the more modest gown looked, and it was nice so Gabrielle joined in the choir of praise. Fleur was less impressed, "Eet eez dull. Eet does fit you." Hermione's eyes narrowed at that, but she let it pass.

"It comes with the latest Stay-Clean charm and an anti-wrinkle charm. So... you'll take it then?" asked Madame Malkin. She swallowed and added, "On the Weasley tab?"

"I couldn't possibly impose..." started Hermione.

"It's quite all right, dear. Consider it a gift," smiled Mrs. Weasley. She waved off Hermione's protests. "And put the last of the bride's dress on my tab too, and the draping charm."

"Molly! Zere is no need for zat! Papa has sent ze galleons," protested Fleur.

"Mum, what are you doing?" asked a shocked Ginny.

"You and Bill have just bought a house. I'm sure it'll need furnishings," said Mrs. Weasley to Fleur. She stepped over to Madame Malkin. "Now then, what is the tab up to? Oh - my goodness, that is quite a lot. I think I'd better clear it before school season."

Madame Malkin was at a loss for words, "Uh... Well.."

"Do you have a vault at Gringotts I could transfer in to?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Er, B-342. Molly, please, I know times are lean right now. You don't have to prove anything," said Madame Malkin quietly.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Weasley. Half to herself she said, "I do hope this works though." She cleared her throat and called, "Dobby."

There was a quiet pop, and a house-elf appeared. Gabrielle had seen house-elves before, but this one was different. Firstly, it seemed quite pleased to have arrived into a room filled with witches. The ones she had seen at the other manor houses back home were very timid and withdrawn. Secondly, this house-elf was clearly wearing clothes - from the mismatched socks on its feet to its baggy trousers and shirt. The creature even had two misshapen, knitted hats on. Gabrielle had no idea that the Weasleys had a house-elf. Mrs. Weasley did all the cooking and most of the cleaning, and doled out what she didn't do as chores. Ginny seemed unaware as well, since her mouth hung agape.

"Missuz Wheazy! How may Dobby help you?" asked the house-elf, who then bowed with a great flourish. He dipped his head so low that it could be seen that he had tied the hats to his ears to prevent them from falling off. He then bowed to each of them in turn. Gabrielle didn't expect that and gave a flustered curtsy in return.

"Ah. Er, would you be so kind, Dobby dear, as to take my key to Gringotts and transfer, uh, twenty-seven galleons to vault, er..." began Mrs. Weasley.

"B-342," informed Madame Malkin.

"Yes, to vault B-342. Please bring two galleons and twenty sickles back," requested Mrs. Weasley.

"Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter's Wheazys," replied Dobby, bouncing over on the tips of his toes to Mrs. Weasley to get the key. He disappeared with a pop.

"Mum! Where did you get the galleons from?" asked Ginny in surprise.

"You know your father works very hard, dear. Now hush," replied Mrs. Weasley. She was obviously avoiding Ginny's eyes.

"What? You said yourself the Ministry..." Ginny trailed off. She looked angry again. "Harry. It's from Harry, isn't it?"

"It's not my or your father's fault! We tried to talk him out of it, but, er, he can be very, um, persuasive." Mrs. Weasley had a faraway look in her eyes as she said this, and looked like she might tear up. This was confusing to Gabrielle, who always liked to receive galleons herself.

"I'll bet it's from the Black estate," said Tonks. "I read that the Wizengamot had cleared all the claims against it."

"Black," muttered Hermione, fingers in her hair. "I am so stupid. Sirius had a brother, didn't he? Regulus Black - Sirius said he was a Death Eater, tried to back out, and was killed. Tonks, do you remember Sirius' brother's middle name?" Hermione was fidgeting and wringing her hands.

"Not off the top of my head," said Tonks. "It was one of those names from astronomy the Black family favored."

"I need a library!" cried Hermione. She paced about anxiously. Gabrielle was wondering if she expected to find one in the shop. Hermione stopped suddenly, "Or a bookshop!" Tonks grabbed her arm before she got to the door.

"You might want to change. Or at least put shoes on," suggested the auror.

"Oh," said Hermione looking down at her feet. "Right." She gathered up her clothes from Fleur and Tonks and hurried to change.

A soft pop announced the return of Dobby. He held two leather pouches.

"Goodness that was fast," marvelled Mrs. Weasley.

Dobby gave her the pouches, then lifted the first of his two hats and fished out a small parchment. The elf handed that to Mrs. Weasley and noted, "We house-elves have our own door, and the goblins like us. They say we don't dither. What else can Dobby do for Harry Potter's Wheazys?"

Mrs. Weasley pushed a sickle into his knobby hand, "That's all for now, dear.'

Dobby looked at the sickle sadly, "Nothing else, Missuz Wheazy? Harry Potter told Dobby Missuz Wheazy had too much work to do?"

"Not at the moment, dear. Now run along and..."

"Sit and hope the students come back," finished Dobby. He slumped his shoulders and disappeared.

"That is Harry Potter's house-elf?" exclaimed Madame Malkin.

"No. That is Harry Potter's friend who is a house-elf. A free house-elf, if you can imagine it. Now, see this?" asked Mrs. Weasley showing the dress-maker the parchment with the silver seal.

"Yes. You transferred all but three galleons and two sickles into the vault. Why?"

"I would like a discount," said Mrs. Weasley as she tucked the parchment away.

"Oh, er, yes. I see. Ten percent is quite reasonable for such a long-time customer. I'll just note it..."

"No, no. I want a ninety percent discount, and I'll pay it right now," declared Mrs. Weasley.

Madame Malkin stared at the column of figures in confusion. "But, but... you've already transferred..."

"Oh! That is clever, Mum," said Ginny. "They only look at the receipts. They'll only see the ten percent listed there."

Madame Malkin's hand froze over the ledger. When she looked up she was teary-eyed. "Oh Molly. How can I ever thank you?"

Mrs. Weasley put her finger over her lips, "Say nothing about it to anyone."

v - v - v - v - v

This, thought Gabrielle sullenly, is the sort of casual injustice that defines her life. She had asked nicely to be allowed to go see the twins' shop. Well, she hadn't asked herself. She had gotten Ginny to ask. That wasn't the point, though. The reasonable request had been made, politely too. But no, she and Ginny were not allowed. Too little time, must stay together - don't be a silly little girl. That was what Fleur was probably thinking, anyway.

Yet here they were, poking around a bookshop because Hermione suddenly wanted to go. What happened to the Ministry driver? Hermione was taking a long time too. If Gabrielle had been allowed to go to the joke shop, she would have just looked around it a little and said hello to George. And Fred. She wouldn't have plopped herself down in an aisle to paw through the merchandise. Hermione, of course, was doing just that. All without a word of complaint from Tonks or Mrs. Weasley.

It didn't help, ranted Gabrielle internally, that her unbandaged hand had been nipped by a stupid book in a stupid cage. On top of that, she was sure she could smell muggle coffee when they had crossed the street, and she would have liked to know where that was coming from. The sudden desire for a book by the curse-throwing cat lady with no tan lines ruined any plans Gabrielle might have had.

Gabrielle would have thought Ginny would also be upset over the unfairness of the situation, but it turned out that Ginny thought that finding out the middle name of Sirius Black's brother was vital too. Gabrielle had read about Sirius Black in her preparation materials. She did not recall any mention of a brother. She had not read all the articles about Sirius and Harry, though. The idea of a crazed maniac coming after a schoolboy was too frightening, and gave her bad dreams. Besides, Gabrielle thought the topic was unlikely to come up between herself and Harry.

A flash of inspiration lit Gabrielle's brain. Sirius Black was back, disguised as his brother, and was after Harry again. Black had given himself away by using the wrong initial and they needed to double-check. Wait, thought Gabrielle, didn't Hermione say Sirius' brother was dead? Of course, Sirius was a desperate murderous lunatic, so maybe this made sense to his sick, twisted mind. Gabrielle suddenly wished she could sit near George. If he wasn't mad at her. It hadn't really been that unpleasant, had it?

v - v - v - v - v

Harry sat on the edge of the bed in the infirmary, shirt off, holding a wad of white cloth to the wound on his chest. He couldn't see why this hole in particular needed the cloth - his shirt had had blood on the front and the back, and both sides. Any one of the holes in him was still leaking blood. Madame Pomfrey had been adamant about the one on his chest, though. He hadn't argued. That would have delayed her treating Ron.

Madame Pomfrey passed by with some Blood Replenishment potions for Ron, and a plate of biscuits. Harry was now sure Ron was going to be okay. Ron had gone from softly groaning to loudly moaning; from there it had progressed to softly cursing. When he reached the loudly cursing stage Madame Pomfrey had threatened to call his mother if he didn't settle down. Just hearing the centaurs being called things he was sure Ron had learned from his cousin Dudley did a lot to give Harry a lift.

It had been such a relief to see Hagrid running up, thought Harry, when the car had slid to a stop next to the great doors of Hogwarts. Harry shuddered when he considered what would have happened if Hagrid had been off on a mission. It wasn't like those huge wrought iron rings could actually be used to knock on the castle's locked doors. Hagrid had recognized the arrows still jutting from Ron. Harry had recounted what had happened as best he could given that Hagrid was running through the halls with Harry under one arm and Ron under the other. When they reached the infirmary, Hagrid dropped Harry on one bed and placed Ron on another, wiped his great brow, and then set out to find Savage. Hagrid had waved off Harry's alarm saying that he would take Fang and Grawp, and they would be fine.

Thinking of Savage left Harry feeling cold. The whole situation had felt wrong and it had spun so far out of control. It was easy to blame Savage - he had been rude and had struck first. But the centaurs had come in force and set up an ambush. Bane's anger certainly hadn't helped calm things. The thing is, thought Harry, Magorian had been in control. Bane's shouting would've meant nothing if Bitters hadn't flung a curse at Magorian. There just seemed to be more to this than Harry was able to see. Now Savage was probably dead. Harry wondered if Bane and Magorian were dead as well. Harry found himself hoping they had survived. Although when he remembered that the two centaurs had shot arrows at his and Ron's backs his anger returned and he hoped they were at least feeling some pain.

Madame Pomfrey pulled back the curtains that surrounded Ron's bed. An extremely pale Ron gave Harry a thumbs-up, then let his arm flop to the bed. The medi-witch came over to Harry. "Now then Mr. Potter, let's see what is stuck in you." She took the cloth from Harry and looked at the bloodstains.

"Stuck in me?" asked Harry. He had seen what a yard of wood sticking into someone looked like. He was very lucky not to have that problem.

"There's a lump under that puncture. The centaurs sometimes use plant-based poisons when hunting - I thought that was why you weren't in pain. The poultice should have drawn it out," explained Madame Pomfrey. She closed the wounds on Harry's shoulder, back, and side with her wand and a sticky yellow sludge.

"Er, it still doesn't hurt much," noted Harry with some alarm. He had only been really dabbing the chest wound, not pressing hard on it.

"Hmmm. Well it didn't color the cloth. Which it should have done for most of the plant poisons."

"Most?!" Harry had felt cold before. Maybe, thought Harry, that was his kidney or liver or something shutting down.

"All the ones to be found in the Forbidden Forest, of course," said Madame Pomfrey. Harry relaxed at that. "Unless they've started using acromantula poison..."

"That isn't really funny, you know," said Harry sourly.

"Well hold still then. This might sting a bit," warned Madame Pomfrey. She tapped her wand on the injury, and to Harry it felt like she had used a red-hot poker. He hissed in pain and jerked back.

"Merlin's balls!" he gasped.

"I thought you said it didn't hurt. Anyway the, um... the button is out." She held up two pieces of a blood covered disc. "Let me close that up."

Harry stared at the pieces lying on the sheet. Bane's arrow hadn't killed him because of a mismatched button on a hand-me-down shirt from Dudley? He was lucky to be alive, and that luck had to have come from Ginny. Ginny had said what they did last night would protect him in battle, and it had. He had wanted to break up, and she waited for him to come to his senses. He wanted her to stay hidden and safe, and she had essentially threatened him to accept her help in return. Now that help had saved his life. I am a complete prat, thought Harry. That was followed by another thought: I wonder if she'll do it again.

v - v - v - v - v

"Sorry about that," said Hermione as they finally left Flourish & Blotts. "I had no idea how completely the history was expunged after the first time - He - fell. Some of the histories make it sound like Voldemort was some deadly strain of flu. Er, sorry," she added at the winces the name caused.

"Did you find what you were looking for, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "You might've purchased something in there, just to help out."

Hermione stopped short. "I should have, shouldn't I? I could have done the same trick with the discount." She turned around.

"No!" blurted Gabrielle. Everyone turned to look at her. "Eh... I..."

"Someone's done with book-browsing," laughed Tonks.

"Zat was rude, Beebee. You should have said: please, we 'ave indulged you more zan enough for one day," said Fleur.

Gabrielle crossed her arms and glared at Fleur. How dare she use that stupid nickname. "(Don't call me that, or... or I will call you Flim!)"

"Phlegm," whispered Ginny.

"Phlegm," repeated Gabrielle. She would find out what that meant later.

"Er, perhaps another day," suggested Mrs. Weasley. "I think we're all feeling a little tired, and a spot of tea would be nice."

v - v - v - v - v

They returned to the leaky Cauldron in various degrees of snit. Gabrielle was the most annoyed, having had her fill of both Fleur and Hermione. She was even a little upset with Ginny for not arguing for the twins' shop more, and for laughing when she asked about Sirius Black's plot. How was she to know that a crazed murderer was really Harry's god-father and actually innocent? And, thought Gabrielle, it wasn't that stupid an idea. It stood to reason that a crazy person would have a crazy plan. It was logical. After all, a fool would not have a clever plan. A fool would have a foolish plan.

The barkeep flagged down Tonks as soon as she entered, and gave her a scroll. Tonks tapped the parchment with her wand and gaped as she read it. "We need to leave. Now," she announced.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Weasley uneasily. She and Hermione had gotten out their wands.

"In the car - I'll tell you in the car," said Tonks as she beckoned them to hurry.

The car from the Ministry shot across an intersection and squeezed between two cars parked six inches apart to reach the group when Tonks raised her wand. The driver was clearly annoyed at being made to wait. His complaints were cut off by a look from Tonks, though. Or perhaps it was the wand she jabbed into his side.

Once the car was outside the ring road and headed west, Tonks explained the note. "McGonagall sent word. Savage, Harry, and Ron were attacked by the centaurs in the forest. Bitters is dead. Ron was badly injured but is doing fine now. Harry was scratched up a bit but is also fine." She turned her head to the window, frowning.

"Who is zis Savage?" asked Fleur.

"An auror. One of the instructors in the department. He was a good man," explained Tonks on a hollow voice. She turned back to the window, and a heavy silence descended. Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands repeatedly and Hermione worried her lip. Ginny seemed to take the news well. Gabrielle was frightened by the news. Not because someone she had only heard about had been killed, though. It was because she had overheard all the plans and precautions for the trip, and they had run into trouble anyway. Britain seemed so much more dangerous now, and for the second time today she wished Fleur had sent her home.

v - v - v - v - v

By the time Harry had decided to get the books Ron was definitely looking better, or at least pinker as the potions did their job. But first he had to escape from Madame Pomfrey's care. She had insisted that Harry's wounds could have been very serious and that rest was needed. Harry thought that made no sense and pointed out that he had not been poisoned, suffered no internal injuries, and wasn't bleeding. Ron suggested that was not far from being perfectly fine. Madame Pomfrey reminded Harry that he had been bleeding, and any exertions should be avoided - by resting. Harry responded by noting that he had not bled so much that he had needed a potion. Madame Pomfrey said that she was just waiting to make sure his body was clear of any toxins, and would now fetch him a dose. Harry slipped out of the infirmary before she could return.

The Room of Requirements came first, and Harry easily retrieved the potions text. He thumbed through its pages, and tried not to think of that bastard Snape when he saw the spiky writing. Harry also tried not to think of Dumbledore, whose tomb he had glimpsed from the speeding car. He failed on both accounts, and his mood swung wildly between melancholy and rage. Harry finally realized he should leave the book until later when he found himself laughing giddily at the thought that what he really needed was a calming draught, and how happy that would make Madame Pomfrey.

The walk to the library helped clear his head. It was eerie in the halls when the castle was so empty. A ghost he had never seen before walked a couple of steps behind him nearly the entire way. Harry tried to get a better look at it, but the apparition either moved just out of his sight or faded completely. It says something, thought Harry, when a place is so spooky that even a ghost prefers company.

Madame Pince still manned her post at the library. That had surprised Harry, but he guessed it was a good thing. Otherwise the library probably would have been locked. Madame Pince had been very helpful, once she had learned the books were for Hermione. She allowed Harry into the Restricted Section and helped him find references for recommended books. It had taken a lot less time to find what looked like good, comprehensive guides about port-keys and the Fidelius than he had expected. Everything went well up until he attempted to actually leave with the books. Madame Pince had apparently thought that Hermione would be coming directly to use the books in the library. It was an understatement to say that she was appalled at the thought of the books leaving the castle, let alone going all the way to Devon. The two had even briefly grappled over the book about port-keys. Harry had won the battle, but the librarian had then stormed off to get her wand and, she said, to gather her library minions. Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or not, so he tucked the books into the pajama top he wore from the infirmary and disillusioned himself again. Madame Pince was just lighting candles that stank of mold and of earth and were arranged around the points of a pentagram when Harry passed her desk. He was not interested in seeing what might end up in the middle of the chalked shape. How would they ever get a horcrux, thought Harry, if getting books was this hard?

v - v - v - v - v

The Ministry car could, it seemed, go even faster than it had on the way to London. Gabrielle found that closing her eyes made the trip easier to stand. She just imagined she was on a long trip through the Floo network. That made the lurches seem more natural. If she ever had a muggle car, she would find someone like Monsieur Toulier to drive it.

Once back at the Burrow, Tonks announced that she would be going back to the Ministry to see if there was any more information on the attack. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny all rushed to the fireplace in the sitting room. Fleur announced to Gabrielle that she would be taking a relaxing bath, and that Gabrielle should stay out of trouble. Gabrielle made faces at Fleur's retreating back, and went into the kitchen.

Gabrielle decided to try making tea again. She figured that Mrs. Weasley would like some at least, and it gave Gabrielle something to do. Gabrielle pulled the old kettle from the cupboard, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. The kettle her Maman had sent looked on unhappily.

"(You are not a proper witch,)" said the embossed face on the unused kettle.

"(You have said that before,)" sighed Gabrielle. She took down the tin of tea leaves.

"(I will not give you boiling water. You are not a proper witch.)"

"(The water is already heating. You are empty,)" pointed out Gabrielle. She sniffed the tea leaves. To Gabrielle, they smelled a little like an old flower arrangement, with none of the rich earthiness of coffee beans. Philippe could probably buy beans at a muggle shop easily. If only she had some francs to give him.

"(If you put water in me, I still will not boil it,)" declared the kettle from its shelf.

"(I don't need you. Now be quiet. I don't want to lose count.") Gabrielle started spooning leaves into the teapot. The kettle on the stove began to rumble.

"(I would be faster than that old thing,)" noted the new kettle smugly.

"(Not without water, which you don't have.)" Gabrielle wished she had a wand to end the kettle's chatter. At least it was not so rude today. That made it easier to ignore the jibes from the kettle. The ordinary kettle started to whistle as it came to a boil.

"(Ha. I can whistle more than one note. I can whistle songs. If I was boiling.)"

"(Which you are not and will not be until Mrs. Weasley makes tea after dinner,)" explained Gabrielle. When she had a house and a kitchen of her own, the only thing in it that would speak would be her.

"(She is a goddess, you know,)" stated the kettle, its metal face beaming. "(A beautiful goddess of the kitchen who has many uses for very hot water. Do you know she used water I boiled to coddle eggs? She is divine.)"

Gabrielle poured the boiling water into the teapot. What was she supposed to say to that? She could barely contain the giggles as it was. Gabrielle would have to tell Mrs. Weasley of her cast-iron follower. At the same time, though, Gabrielle had never heard the kettle refer to her Maman as a goddess and found that slightly insulting. Mrs. Weasley cooked for more people, that was true. But her Maman prepared the family's meals herself also. Then again, thought Gabrielle, the waffle-maker was acting funny too. She looked at the kettle closely. Perhaps it had been dented in transit.

"(I could heat soup directly, or boil eggs too. I'm sure of it. If the opening in my top is big enough, that is. I can not see it. Can you see if the opening is large enough for an egg?)"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. It's definitely gone funny, she thought. "(Yes. An egg will fit in you. I will point that out to her. Now shut up,)" replied Gabrielle. She started sorting through the food pantry for biscuits or crackers to go with the tea. And maybe some cheese, Gabrielle thought, since she had skipped lunch and was finally feeling hungry.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry stood outside the infirmary door, waiting for the Floo call to end. He supposed it wasn't very much like a Gryffindor of him to do that and he couldn't really say why he was doing it, but he really didn't want to face Mrs. Weasley and Hermione right now. He did want to talk to Ginny, just in a more private setting. Besides, the tongue-lashing Ron was getting for not doing any number of things Ron couldn't possibly have known to do without seeing the future was pretty funny. As long, of course, as it was only happening to Ron.

"I see trouble as found you again, Mr. Potter."

Harry tried to draw his wand and spin around while both hands held books. Consequently, he dropped the books. He faced the taut expression of the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. "Professor McGonagall! I, er, didn't hear you come up."

"I have been practicing my technique with that goal in mind." The edges of her mouth lifted slightly. "It's still unclear as to whether I'll be able to put it to good use in the coming year."

"So Hogwarts may open after all?" asked Harry.

"I'd rather hoped the shocked question would be that it might close," McGonagall said stiffly, "but I suppose recent events would argue against optimism. It has not yet been decided to either have the school year or to cancel it."

"So there's still hope, then?"

"Some. Hagrid has returned safely. He brought back the unfortunate Mr. Savage. I have already alerted the Ministry, and sent word to the Weasleys." She gestured at the infirmary door with her walking stick. "The clamor tells me Molly has received it."

"Er, right," said Harry. He was beginning to feel guilty, like he usually did when he spoke to McGonagall. What he wanted to do most was go back to the Burrow.

"You seem to have recovered quickly. Go down to Hagrid's for some tea, and let him know how Mr. Weasley is getting along," suggested the Headmistress, looking at him over the top of her glasses.

"Yeah, all right. I mean, yes, ma'am."

"And please take care with those books. Madame Pince is in quite a state right now."

"Yes, Professor." Harry levitated the books back into his arms. McGonagall gave him a thin smile and abruptly shrank to a tabby cat, before padding silently away.

v - v - v - v - v

"Harry Potter."

Harry had just stepped off the the stone stairs leading to the castle grounds when he heard his name called. He recognized the voice, and his blood ran cold. Harry put the books on the stairs, and pulled out his wand again.

"Professor Firenze," said Harry in acknowledgement.

The centaur strode forward. Harry could see that he carried no weapon on him, and relaxed a little.

"I have heard of the attack. The herd is in an uproar, and at this time leaderless. Almost every male of age is incapacitated. It is a dark time," said Firenze evenly.

"I'm sorry. Everything happened so fast. I never intended for this to happen."

"We read the stars and see the signs in the smoke. The end-times were foretold; that a great wizard would come and destroy the herd. Bane thought it would be you and wished to eliminate all wizards from the forest. I knew of the evil that is Voldemort, and sided with you and your Professor Dumbledore. Ironically, Bane was correct. We both, however, made the mistake of believing we saw more than what was there, and that we could guide the future."

"What will happen now?" asked Harry.

"Mars is very bright, but Venus has also brightened. It is an unusual and unexpected sign, and bears watching."

"I meant what will happen to the herd?"

The centaur spread his arms wide with his palms up. "It is difficult to see. They have sent for me, those who once made me an outcast. That is not part of our tradition. A female of our kind, armed with a hunting bow, was sent with the summons. That is also not part of our species' tradition."

"So you're, er, leaving then?" Harry felt very exposed when the bow was mentioned, and shifted closer to the low wall of the stairs.

"The headmistress thinks of it as a 'leave of absence', but I will return to my kind."

"Oh. Well, um, good luck then. If there's any, you know, anything I could do to help?" suggested Harry. "I'm sure Hagrid could help tend..."

"No. We are a humbled herd, and will make our own way from here. Goodbye, Harry Potter."

"Goodbye, Professor," replied Harry. Firenze did not move however, but merely shifted his gaze to the forest. Harry stood by awkwardly as if something more was expected of the situation, before collecting his books again. He tried not to think of arrows on his way to Hagrid's hut.


	10. Tea Time

Chapter Ten - Tea Time

The fire damage done to Hagrid's house had been more than repaired. It looked to be a complete rebuild, noted Harry, using field stone. Moss grew over most of it already, undoubtedly assisted by a little magic. The house looked somewhat larger as well, though still cozy when one considered the occupant. Harry knocked on the massive door. The sound of Fang's deep barking reminded him of happier times. The panel covering a small window in the door slid open and a large eye peered out.

"It's me, Hagrid," called Harry.

"So it is, so it is," said Hagrid. The little window closed and the great door opened. "Come in an' set a while."

Harry stepped through the door and was surprised by how cluttered the little house was already. He noted the furnishings. Some were clearly made by hand for a very large person, but others were obviously old but very posh pieces that only needed the odd leg and some lashing to be usable. It occurred to Harry that Hagrid might either know of or have stumbled across the Room of Requirement. "This is nice Hagrid. Stone too - you're not going to hatch any more dragons?"

"Nah. But I do have some ashwinder eggs fer next term." Hagrid sighed, "I tell yeh, I do miss ol' Norbert at times. Grawpy helped me build this place. He's a bit clumsy with an axe but he's good with stones."

Harry walked around the room. He could see the extra space on the outside was separated into a storage or work room by thick stone walls and an iron-reinforced door. A perfect breeding shed for skrewts, mused Harry. The door was open, and when he looked in Harry noticed two things. The first were the huge stone slabs that made up a table and bench, obviously sized for Hagrid's brother, that were visible through the iron bars of the back window. The second was Bitters Savage, laid out on a wooden table, with his wand and the arrow that killed him next to his chest. The blood that soaked his shirt had gone dark and his open eyes stared glassily. The horror and panic of seeing the arrows in flight and watching Ron and Bitters fall swept over Harry, and his knees went weak. He might have fell, but Hagrid had him by his back collar.

"I should'n'a left that open. 'Ere now, let's get some tea in yeh. Maybe a bit o' a bracer as well," said Hagrid as he easily hefted Harry into a chair.

v - v - v - v - v

Long, pallid fingers stroked the ancient carved wood that was the arm of the chair. It was pleasing to the touch. All the furnishings in the room were like this. The wall hangings and draperies were made of rich fabrics in harmonious colors. The scented candles mixed with the smell of oiled leather and old books for a heady perfume. The whole of the room saturated the senses and was almost sensuous. Little wonder there was a lack of ambition for more, thought the man. He was far more than just a man, but at the same time it was clear he was not quite all man. It was the flatness of the nose and slit-like nostrils, and the red glow of his eyes, that showed it. There was a quiet knock on the door.

"Enter," said the man.

A wizard in dark green robes entered and knelt on one knee in front of the black-clad man. "My Lord," said the wizard. "The Ministry has sent a message." He took a small envelope with a ornate red wax seal from a robe pocket and presented it.

"Leave it," said the man gesturing to the table, "and leave me."

"At once," said the wizard. He placed the envelope on the table and hurried away.

The man, known to his followers as Lord Voldemort, regarded the envelope thoughtfully. His minions had successfully raided Hogwarts, and all had gone according to the wild plan in that regard. He had been surprised by Lucius' son's success in opening the breach. The fact that the boy had faltered in the end was of no consequence save to point out the weaknesses of his Death Eaters. By all accounts, the whole of the operation was nearly stymied, again, by mere students and it cost him more of his Death Eaters. They had even managed to kill that old fool Dumbledore, but an ounce of effort on Dumbeldore's part would have ended the raid quickly. There was more to this than he could see. The betrayal by Severus carried the day, in the end.

The problem, thought the Dark Lord, was his followers had grown too satisfied laying low in polite society, or too weak, in power or mind, in prison. He needed new recruits, ones who understood that their power gave them dominion over those without and who understood that combining their power with his would increase their own dominance.

But he had discovered, in clandestine meetings with promising candidates, that very few shared his craving for control as power. The young wizards he spoke to were strong magically, and they used that power viciously against their rivals - their rivals for members of the opposite sex. The power this young blood desired was in reality mere wealth. They would gladly buy the subservience of others that he, Lord Voldemort, expected due to respect and fear alone. The lust in their eyes for power, for wealth, was particularly noticeable when the meetings were here at the Malfoy Manor. It was a disappointment, and a lesson. Threats became bribes and gratuities; hush money became salary and retainers. Betrayal and disloyalty, smiled Lord Voldemort, was still paid back with agonizing pain and even death.

The money first came from the Malfoy fortune. Madame Malfoy had not been reticent about it in the least, which, the Dark Lord knew, meant there was more hidden somewhere else. It did not matter, as the collections from the shop-owners exceeded the need at the moment. The web this money wove could widen rapidly. Lord Voldemort could see how Lucius had gotten to where he had been, and how to go further. Proof of that lay in the envelope on the table. Sources in the Ministry suggested an offer to talk of power-sharing might be made. It was pathetic that the time the Ministry would choose to offer a kind of surrender was before the actual attack.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door. "My Lord," called the quavering voice of a house-elf. "Will you take tea?" The Dark Lord opened the door with a flick of his wand.

"Yes. Bring Madame Malfoy here, and a setting for her."

"At once, master!" squeaked the house-elf, who then disappeared with a pop.

I must know, thought Lord Voldemort, how that is done in spite of the wards. The idea of learning anything from something as repulsive as a simpering house-elf would have been unimaginable a year ago. But his concern with blood purity had begun to wane. It was not just the inconvenient circumstances of his own origins. He had begun to think of himself as having transcended blood anyway and become a being composed of magic. No, it was the practical matter that the most promising potential recruits were only a generation or two from muggle-born blood. These, he found, chafed at the restrictions on magic use and resented the muggle world because of it. They wanted the wealth they believed was power, and they were willing to take it. It would require little, smiled the Dark Lord, to make them see people as a currency to be spent as well.

Another knock on the door revealed the lovely Narcissa Malfoy, although more of the loveliness came from a jar these days, and a house-elf carrying a tray. He could feel the fizz of her nervous worry in the air without the need for a spell. He had taken much from her and she had given the rest freely. It was time to reward her.

"My Lord," greeted Narcissa dropping to her knees. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes," purred Lord Voldemort, revealing unnaturally pointed teeth. "Please have some tea. It is time we made plans to free Lucius."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle would have brought the tea to the sitting room, but she couldn't handle the tray with her hand bandaged. So she brought the plates of biscuits, crackers, and cheese out to the kitchen table one by one. It had been a surprising discovery, but Gabrielle had found what looked and smelled like a wheel of Brie in the cold storage. She was bringing that out when Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione entered.

"I'll just make us some tea..." said Mrs. Weasley before noticing the spread on the table and a smiling Gabrielle. "Oh! You are a dear."

"Er, you might want to try a sip first," suggested Ginny. "She likes it strong."

"I made ze tea as you said," huffed Gabrielle. Really, did she have to bring that up?

Mrs. Weasley poured the cups of tea. Ginny made a show of sniffing and handling the tea suspiciously, like it was an unknown potion, before taking a small sip. She screwed up her face as if she had bitten a lemon, causing Gabrielle a moment's panic, before smiling.

"Hey, it's not bad," said Ginny. Gabrielle made a face at her.

"It's a lovely tea," praised Mrs. Weasley.

"How are Harry and Ron?" asked Gabrielle. She offered the plate of biscuits to each person like her Maman always did.

"Ron is up and about already - Madame Pomfrey is a wonder. Harry had a button or something stuck in him. He had left for the library so he wasn't badly off," replied Mrs. Weasley.

"Did Ron say what happened?" asked Gabrielle. In her role as hostess, it was her job to get conversations started. It's what Maman did when she hosted lunches or dinners. It didn't take much - Maman served wine.

"Ron couldn't say much. They were just getting into the forest when they heard the centaurs come up. That auror, Savage, had gone ahead. When they caught up to him he was already arguing with the centaurs. Ron says Savage cursed one of the centaurs, and then the arrow hit him," explained Mrs. Weasley. She added in a strangled voice, "If Harry hadn't shoved him, Ron would be dead."

"But we don't know how he and Harry got away. Ron remembers moving pretty fast at some point after being hit, but he wasn't sure if he was on a broom or not," complained Ginny.

"This is my fault. I should have been there to keep them out of trouble," said Hermione suddenly. "I've flown on brooms before - I just let myself get carried away."

"Oh please," said Ginny with exasperation. "I'm sure the centaurs would have been right pleased to see you again after bringing Umbridge to them."

"Ah, er, right. I had forgotten about that. Still..." began Hermione.

"And if Harry pushed Ron out of the way, who would have pushed you?" asked Ginny. Hermione didn't seem to have an answer for that, but looked like she would think of one. Gabrielle put some crackers on her plate and cut open the wheel of cheese with a knife. It smelled absolutely delicious and was nicely ripe, but it was also light green inside.

"Eh, what is zis cheese?" asked Gabrielle staring at the wedge she at cut.

Mrs. Weasley turned the plate with the wheel back and forth. "I can't say I recognize it at all. Wherever did you get it from?"

"It was in ze storage cold. I zought it was Brie," replied Gabrielle.

"I know a couple of cheeses with veins of green, but none that are green through and through," offered Hermione. Gabrielle poked at the cheese experimentally with the knife.

"It's probably gone bad. I hope it's not one of those creeping slime things you hear about from Asia," said Mrs. Weasley.

"More likely it's a Fred and George prank gone wrong," asserted Ginny. Gabrielle managed to scoop some up with her knife, and sniffed it. Too bad it was the wrong color. It seemed like a very good cheese, and she was hungry. "Put that in your mouth, Beebee, and I'll hit you!"

"What?" asked Gabrielle looking up from her scrutiny of the cheese.

"Gabrielle - tell me you aren't thinking of eating that!" scolded Hermione. "Try to be sensible."

"I was not!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "Eh, I was not going to eat it. I am sensible also." On the other hand, thought Gabrielle, if George and Fred left it for her they would be disappointed.

"It's obviously been tampered with. If Fred and George were involved, then something has gone wrong. There's no telling what the effects might be," said Hermione. "It could even be poisonous."

That, thought Gabrielle, was really stretching it. The twins were like, like, like craftsmen! Of a sort. They tested things many times, and on themselves as well. At least they said they did. If they did that, then, wondered Gabrielle, why was the cheese green? A seed of an idea began to grow. But first there was a distraction.

"Why are you calling her Beebee?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Everybody calls her Beebee," shrugged Ginny.

"Zey do not!"

"The twins call her that. So do Fleur and Tonks," explained Ginny.

"Fred calls me zat only, and I do not want any of zem to call me zat," complained Gabrielle.

"But what does it mean?" asked the Weasley mother.

"It means zey are being mean to me," pouted Gabrielle. "You should make zem stop."

"It sounds like initials, like it's short for something," persisted Mrs. Weasley. "Is it something rude, or just harmless?"

"Do you know, Gabrielle?" asked Hermione. Gabrielle gave Hermione a look intended to convey how stupid she was if she thought any information would be coming from her. It was apparent to Gabrielle that Hermione was socially backward when Hermione added, "You ate some of that cheese, didn't you? And now your stomach hurts."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "No. I did not. Ze cheese is fine, I zink." Better to argue about the cheese, thought Gabrielle, then that stupid name.

"Beebee. Bee bee. Bee.." mused Ginny. "Ha! I get it now. It's from..."

"Mrs. Weasley! Please make zem stop," begged Gabrielle.

"Unless it's something rude, it'll be for you girls to settle, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. She glared, "It is not rude, is it?"

"Nah. It's short for Blond Bludger, that's all. Something George called her," said Ginny.

"He did not," said Gabrielle uncertainly. She had the sinking feeling that she was wrong. So much had happened to her that she couldn't be sure.

"He did. It was when you were telling us about the Skele-Gro," reminded Ginny. "And now it's not such a big deal - I can see it on your face. Ha!" Ginny looked quite pleased with herself, Gabrielle thought, with that annoying smirk on her face. Even if it was George that had called her that first, he didn't call her that now. In fact, he always said her name properly and knowing that made her feel a little better. Ginny continued, "That's the most puffskein-love thing I've seen since..."

"Since the summer after Ron's first year, when you hounded him with questions about Harry?" interrupted Mrs. Weasley. Ginny went to say something, but stopped.

"You must be nice, or I will not help," warned Gabrielle. It wasn't like she was constantly mooning over George.

"I am being nice. You need to see that we all like the Blond Bludger in you. The twins love that you'll try their pranks. We don't need another overgrown fairy flitting around complaining about everything," said Ginny. Gabrielle looked at the cheese.

"But not that prank," said Hermione, noticing.

"I zink the cheese is, eh, good to eat. Zey want people to zink it is bad. It is a... a prank, eh, prank," concluded Gabrielle. She spread some of the cheese on a cracker, and smiled.

"Is this like your idea that Sirius would come back as his dead brother so no one would notice him?" asked Ginny.

"So the joke is that there is no joke?" asked Hermione. "I don't see how that is a reasonable conclusion. Maybe something off about the cheese that was just enough to make someone suspicious could work like that, but it's completely green inside."

"Eh, perhaps... perhaps if it is too little, you may not notice it unless you, eh, expect it?" suggested Gabrielle.

"A weird color outside, maybe. But not inside," said Ginny.

"Forget the cheese for now, dear. Madame Pomfrey has her hands full right now, and wouldn't be here to help," advised Mrs. Weasley. She stood. "I'll get another pot."

"But, how will zey know we know zeir trick, if ze cheese is not eaten?" asked Gabrielle after Mrs. Weasley left.

"I'll vanish it, and you can say you ate it, all right? Honestly, it's not worth taking the chance," declared Hermione.

Gabrielle looked shocked. "But zat will be cheating!" she blurted.

"What? How'd you figure that? They used magic to ruin perfectly good cheese, and I'll use magic to get rid of ruined cheese. It's green inside!" said Hermione in exasperation.

"It's no use Hermione," said Ginny shaking her head. "She's going to try the cheese. Beebee's been planning on it ever since Fred and George were brought up."

"We can't let her. What if it isn't the twins work?" asked Hermione.

"It's up to her. But if she does eat it, I'm going to make sure she eats that whole wedge," warned Ginny. She challenged, "So how about that, Beebee?"

"Fine. I did not have anyzing for lunch anyway," said Gabrielle. She was sure there was nothing wrong with the Brie, except for the color. But now that Ginny had pushed her, a bit of doubt started to edge its way into her mind. It was too obviously a prank to be a real prank - that seemed logical. Unless it was a prank prank-prank. The problem, Gabrielle's second thoughts noted, was that she didn't really know if the twins were responsible for the cheese. It could be, the thoughts continued, that she was about to poison herself. And certainly humiliate herself, if she was wrong.

Hermione noticed her hesitation and said, "That's right, er, Beebee. It's better to back down now than be sorry later."

That stiffened her resolve. She waved her bandaged arm. "I will need help wiz ze crackers."

"I still think this is a bad idea," said Hermione.

Ginny pulled Gabrielle's plate to her, "I'll do it." She made a show of cutting thick slabs and of spreading them onto the crackers. The further delay caused Gabrielle's determination to ebb again, and she wondered what had happened to Mrs. Weasley. Surely Mrs. Weasley would be back to confiscate it?

"There you go," smiled Ginny. She whispered, "You know, I wouldn't tell Fred or George you chickened out..."

Gabrielle stared at the slabs of slightly oozy green on the crackers. Should she do it, she wondered? If it was George and Fred and she was wrong, it would be embarrassing now and until Ginny stopped talking about it. If it was something else, well, she had had her stomach stretched up out of her mouth and turned inside out before. That wasn't something you could forget, really.

So, Gabrielle thought, she could be right and not be hungry, which the scent of the Brie was making her. Or she could be wrong, turned into a squid or something, and teased endlessly. Fleur would find out and be mad again too. She could also be wrong and be in agony in hospital. Maman would have to be told, and her future would be over. The smart move, Gabrielle thought, would be to stop now and take the taunting. And yet, then she would never know.

Gabrielle smiled. The cheese was evenly green. Perfectly even. There was no way that something could grow in cheese and be that uniform. It was the twins. Before her determination faded again, Gabrielle popped one of the Brie-covered crackers into her mouth, closed her eyes, and chewed. The flavor lived up to the aroma, and the flavor of this Brie was stunning. It was like Gaston's coffee - her senses were overwhelmed and she could almost see and smell picturesque dairy farms set among green, rolling hills where the scent of hoof-trodden damp earth mingled with the sweet aroma of fresh milk. She could practically feel the cool dryness of dark caves that hinted of mushrooms. Without opening her eyes, Gabrielle fumbled to find another cracker to eat so she wouldn't lose the sensation. Gabrielle was just finishing the fourth portion when the Weasley kitchen came back to the fore. Ginny was laughing at her and Hermione was waving her hands in front of Gabrielle's face. Gabrielle reached for another cheese laden cracker and saw her hand. "Merde," she sighed.

v - v - v - v - v

Whatever Hagrid had put in the tea, thought Harry, was working. He felt a lot calmer, and warmer too. He could push the image of Savage laying on the table out of his head, and did so. "Hagrid?" asked Harry, "How bad off were the centaurs anyway? They've sent for Firenze you know."

"Did they now? Grawpy an' me didn't stay long. Weren't exactly welcome right 'bout then. Magorian and Bane were gone, could see that. Loads o' bad breaks on the others from what Grawpy could see," replied Hagrid.

"So Magorian and Bane survived then?"

"Uh, I meant gone in a mortal coil sort o' way."

"Oh." The warmth of a moment ago was gone, and Harry felt cold again. "But the others will heal, right?" asked Harry hopefully.

Hagrid shifted uneasily. "Tha's a hard one. Centaurs are intell'gent and all, but the legs o' a horse are the legs o' a horse. An' when a horse's leg breaks, well... Very prone to blood infections, when they break." He pushed a plate of treacle tarts over to Harry.

"But you could help them, right?" asked Harry desperately. He took a tart automatically, but his clenching stomach wouldn't let him even try to eat the crockery-hard pastry.

"I could, if they were teh ask. Too much pride for their own good, seems ter me."

The plans, thought Harry, that he and Ron had come up with over the summer seemed like delusions now. The very first step had been stumble of catastrophic proportions. He had killed three people, possibly more would die, and one part of him wanted to retch in horror. Another part of him pointed out that he wasn't the one who shot Savage with an arrow, and that Magorian and Bane had tried to kill him first. The first part wondered if he hadn't complained to Bitters and hexed the auror would Savage have still been so rude to the centaurs, or if they hadn't hurried would they have arrived after the centaurs had gone to bed? The second part of Harry remembered trying to warn Bitters off, and that he only used his wand after Savage and the centaurs had struck. A third part of Harry noted that he wouldn't even get in trouble since the centaurs had killed Savage and, according to the Ministry, centaurs were beasts.

Harry put down the tea and shook his head. Whatever was in the tea was obviously working too well. It was time to find Ron and get out of here.

v - v - v - v - v

Lord Voldemort finished his cup of tea in solitude. The beautiful Narcissa was pleasant enough company, but too vapid to maintain interesting conversation. She took the dismissal well, eager as she was to begin her role in freeing Lucius. The Malfoys were paired well - Lucius was a careful plotter and a slippery foe, while Narcissa was a fountain of gossip and knew who wanted what. The two would be useful to him if he decided to accept the Ministry's expected proposal.

The idea of carving out an autonomous region was an intriguing one. If he was willing to accept a remote location it could possibly be cleared of filthy muggles altogether. Or he could push for an area closer to London. There would be muggles there, for a time at least, but there would be more wizarding families under his control. He rather liked the idea of a safe haven. He would never, of course, just hand one to a foe.

The Dark Lord's long fingers swirled the cup with its dregs and then upended it onto the saucer. He never saw much in the tea leaves anyway, but one might as well look. The lost prophecy still was an impediment. The Potter brat needed to be dealt with carefully. That was a lot easier with Dumbledore killed. The deal Potter had made with the Ministry helped too. By working with the aurors, the Ministry could keep a closer watch on Potter, as could the spies in the Ministry.

It could have all been over a few days from now, considered the Dark Lord, except for the issue of the wands. It was obvious now that Ollivander had been too optimistic about finding that South American phoenix. Too optimistic, or too devious. Without a new wand he could not risk facing Potter, who seemed to have the luck of the devil himself. The raid on the Weasley wedding would humiliate the blood traitors, but would do nothing to end the prophecy. Potter would be there, without a doubt, but the circumstances would not be overwhelmingly against him. An additional consideration was the Ministry's potential offer. If it was promising, the whole of the attack would be postponed. Couldn't back-stab my new colleagues my first day on the backbench, laughed Voldemort darkly.

No, thought Lord Voldemort, the Chinese puzzle-box enchantment combined with a port-key would provide the subterfuge needed to capture Potter again. The plan to free Lucius would provide a test of the scheme. Narcissa's task was to trade whatever favors needed to smuggle the barely magical pieces to her husband. Once assembled, Lucius would be transported here. In all likelihood.

The tea leaves took the form, if one squinted, of a bowler hat. Or perhaps a sauce pan - he got a lot of those. Divination was dragon dung, sneered the Dark Lord. Yet it was the one thing that held him back from seizing the world.

Lord Voldemort pushed the tea service away and rubbed his temples with the heel of his hands. His head still throbbed a bit from last night's headache. Hopefully Severus had found a suitable location and supplies for a potions lab. The man had wasted too many weeks mourning the loss of his Hogwarts lab and papers. A good tonic for headache would soothe him before the Ministry meeting. It would be best not to strike the idiots down right off.

Thinking of Severus Snape made the Dark Lord think of Dumbledore again, and his other concern. Dumbledore had discovered his secret. Lucius allowed the Diary to be destroyed, and the Dark Lord had recognized the Ring that Snape had described. It had ruined the old wizard's hand; it was likely Dumbledore's search had produced the weakness that led to his death. Oddly, it did seem like Dumbledore had told no one else, not even Potter, or surely his spies at the Ministry or his potions master would have heard of it. But if there was a record of the old mage's find...

His beloved Nagini was near, and he had sent Wormtail to Romania secretly to fetch the Cup. Lord Voldemort would have preferred to send the far more formidable and, frankly, competent Severus for it, but with constant instruction Wormtail would do. When the time came, thought the Dark Lord, it would be his Hand retrieving it anyway. That left only the Locket, and the other, to check on, but the Locket was near enough for him to examine personally and, perhaps, add another layer of protection.

Now, considered Lord Voldemort, the Ministry meeting. It would have to be near midnight, and someplace suitably sinister. Fear was a powerful magic in itself.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle peeked around the old family clock behind the sofa. It was a bit pathetic, she admitted to herself, to be hiding again. But there was only so much of being laughed at that she could take. Besides, if she didn't get out of Ginny's sight it was possible that Ginny would run out of breath and collapse. Also, she did not need lectures on judgment and proper behavior from someone with no tan lines, and told Hermione so. Hermione went pink with embarrassment, then red with anger, and Ginny fell off her chair. Gabrielle grabbed the last of the spread Brie then and fled.

Gabrielle looked at her hand. It was still green. Or greens. It was difficult to say if it had faded at all as the weird blobs of darker and lighter greens crawled across her skin. She had lifted her shirt in front of the mirror in Ginny's room. The shifting, mottled coloring was almost hypnotic, really. She didn't find it particularly funny though, and she hoped it would be gone by dinner.

Gabrielle had a new wish she had added to her long list. She stroked the silky cloak she was under. She wanted, no - needed, an invisibility cloak. Hermione and Ginny were out looking for her; Hermione had already looked behind the sofa. All Gabrielle had to do to avoid detection was to scrunch up in the back corner, and not breathe, when Hermione's glowing wand lit up the dark recess. If she had a cloak like this, much drama at home could be avoided. She smiled at the thought of asking Papa for one. Gabrielle knew he would agree if she asked in a certain way. Papa would get as far as Maman in his quests. She would set him straight, then glare at her and Fleur for days after.

Gabrielle heard the front door open, and adjusted the angle of the clock face. To her surprise, it was Mr. Weasley who stepped into the entry hall. Mr. Weasley barely made it home by the evening meal, usually. He was followed in by one of the twins. Through the gauzy film of the cloak she couldn't tell if it were George or Fred. There was definitely only the one though. Gabrielle had never seen them apart before. Mrs. Weasley met them and herded them into the kitchen.

Gabrielle was mulling over the idea of trying to sneak into the kitchen, and the problem of closed doors, when Crookshanks' ginger-furred face peered down into the gap behind the sofa and above the clock. Gabrielle startled but managed to stifle her surprise. Crookshanks dropped to the ground, stepped liquidly around the broken clock, and sat staring into Gabrielle's eyes.

"Eh, hello Crookshanks," whispered Gabrielle. Go away, she thought, please. Crookshanks twitched his tail. "I, eh, am hiding until I am not green." Gabrielle hoped he would not demand chicken right now. There was no way to get some, and Hermione would probably hear him.

Crookshanks seemed to ignore her, and began to purr. He climbed onto her back and walked the length of her body before returning to climb onto her head. His weight pressed her chin to the floor. What, wondered Gabrielle, does this mean? What does he want? She lay still, with the cat sitting on her head, for a minute or two, waiting. It did not seem like Crookshanks wanted anything in particular save to be difficult, thought Gabrielle. He would give her away, for certain, like this though. Anyone who looked in would see Crookshanks sitting in mid-air.

"Eh, Crookshanks... zis is not, eh, nice," mumbled Gabrielle. Talking with her chin on the floor made her head shake. Crookshanks responded by digging his claws into her scalp. "No, no. It is the cloak of Harry," whispered Gabrielle desperately. Crookshanks hopped off of her head and she retreated further. Her fingers found wetness when she massaged her scalp. Gabrielle hoped very much that the cloak was not damaged. She certainly couldn't fix it and no one would hold the cat responsible.

"Please, I can not get ze chicken for you now," explained Gabrielle. Crookshanks just stared at her. Gabrielle wondered if the cat did understand, or was she just imagining last time.

A distraction came when Ginny and either George and Fred came in and dropped onto the sofa. Crookshanks suddenly hissed and shot from Gabrielle's hiding spot out into the entry hall, then he disappeared.

"So where's the other half?" asked Ginny. "Did you close the shop early?"

"No. Dad's arranging yours truly as the Order's exalted escort for Ron and Harry. Once there are enough curlicues in the plan, of course. George'll close up - he's taking Matty out later anyway," explained Fred.

Gabrielle swallowed hard. Of course George would have a real life outside the Burrow, thought Gabrielle. One she was not part of. He and Fred lived over their shop, not here with... the children.

"Really? I thought he said once a week was enough of her," said Ginny.

"Yeah, well... I just hinted to her that he was expecting her," said Fred. "She took it from there." Gabrielle thought this Matty sounded unpleasantly forward.

"Why? Is it a set-up?"

"I take great offense at the implication," said Fred in a hurt voice. He continued normally, "I just think that adult company away from bad influences would be good for him."

"Bad influences? The only way George could get away from bad influences is if you and he split," laughed Ginny.

"I am talking about bad influences that turn your dear brother's mind to porridge and will suck his soul leaving him a Confunded empty husk!" snapped Fred.

"Er, right. Should have remembered those influences. Can't just leave those lying around. I'll get a broom."

"I'm serious," said Fred more calmly. "You saw him this morning. George could barely stand after she was pried off him. It has to stop." Gabrielle caught her breath. What did he mean, she wondered.

There was nothing for a long moment, then Ginny asked, "Are you talking about Beebee? Little Beebee is your soul-sucking bad influence?" Ginny burst out laughing, which peeved Gabrielle. I am part-Veela, she thought.

"She's a right menace. We need to keep her away from George." Gabrielle was dumbfounded. She knew she had completely embarrassed herself this morning, but if anyone should be mad it should be George. Who was Fred, thought Gabrielle angrily, to say such things? She moved Fred to the top of the list of people to set fire to.

"You've got your own fan-girl following too, you know," declared Ginny.

"Oh? And where are they on laundry day?"

"You didn't notice that girl in the shop the other day - curly brown hair, 'FR' on one eyelid and 'ED' on the other? She was trying to get you to look into her eyes and see the depths of her passion."

"You're kidding, right?" asked Fred incredulously.

"Work on a smoldering gaze and half the girls in the shop would faint. George could handle the other half!" laughed Ginny.

"Smoldering gaze? You've been reading Mum's sappy novels again," said Fred with a sneer.

"It's a normal, young schoolgirl crush." said Ginny defensively.

"Exactly. What is she - eight or something? Beebee should be playing with fairies or the like. Not ambushing George." Fred now occupies the first and second spots on the list, thought Gabrielle.

"Are you sure you're not Confunded? I really think George can withstand Beebee's feminine wiles. He deals with Matty all right, and she has considerably more feminine, er, feminine wiles."

"Maybe. But if you had to smell that ruddy awful muggle coffee he concocted in case you brought her round, or had to put up with him tearing around the shop after drinking half of it, well, you would start to wonder if he's gone daft too," asserted Fred.

"Muggle coffee?" wondered Ginny.

"And, I found him wrapping up a box for her. I asked if it was more prototypes, and do you know what he said? He said, 'No. Just something I thought she might like.'" Gabrielle, who had been trying to work out which part of her was her wiles, perked up.

"Well, she has had a bit of a rough patch here. He's doing his part for Weasley-Delacour relations."

"This is George we're talking about here. He dated that Belinda for a year and never thought of giving her anything. He had trouble remembering her name. And..."

"He gives Matty things," Ginny interrupted.

"No - she asks for them. And, he was reading a book on learning conversational French." declared Fred.

"All right, now you're starting to scare me," conceded Ginny. "But... maybe he just wants to chat up the French girls at the wedding. Yeah."

"Sure. Maybe is does just look funny. Better safe than sorry though. Constant vigilance! I'm going back to beater to keep the Blond Bludger away from George."

"She's not so much the Blond Bludger as the French Frog right now. Do you two have to keep leaving pranks around?" asked Ginny irritatedly. "The cheese was completely green and she ate it anyway."

"There were other colors," noted Fred.

"The wedge she had was green and now she is too. How long is that going to last?" demanded Ginny. Gabrielle held her breath.

"How much did she have?" asked Fred.

"It was like this."

"Shouldn't be more than a couple of days, I'd wager," said Fred casually. There was ringing in Gabrielle's ears as breathing became unimportant. She was already dead. It was only a matter of time before Fleur and Maman made it official. It was so obviously a prank, thought Gabrielle, why did I fall for it?

There were sounds of a struggle now. Ginny barked, "Get. The. Antidote."

"Geroff me. Merlin your nails are sharp. I was only kidding. Ginny, it's a couple of hours. Hours." said Fred as he struggled. Gabrielle's sigh of relief was not heard as she rested her forehead on the floor.

"It bloody well better be, or you'll be cooking for yourself from here on," warned Ginny.

"Don't blame me, it was going to be a party game for the reception. Eat a few colors and you're a human lava lamp. It wasn't meant for Beebee. George is the one who chose that cheese. I was plumping for a nice Wensleydale. Nothing wrong with a good English cheese by my way of thinking. You should have seen the galleons he spent importing that from some monastery on the ill of Paris or some," explained Fred. Gabrielle wondered, ill of Paris? He must mean Ille de Paris. No wonder the Brie was so wonderful. George is very thoughtful.

"What is a lava lamp?" asked Ginny.

"Oozy blobs of wax floating in warm oil. We're going to stock some modified muggle ones in the shop. Dad got us a waiver in exchange for the plugs. Very good for stress relief, they are."

"Uh, yeah. Oozy blobs define relaxing," said Ginny doubtfully.

"You, dear sister, are behind the times. Anyway, why did you let her eat it?" asked Fred.

"Once she thought it was from you and George nothing short of hexing her would stop her. Gabrielle even thought it was safe. What did she call it? Um... Oh. A prank prank."

"A prank... prank?"

"I think the idea was that something might look like a prank to a suspicious person, but not be a real prank. To be honest it made more sense at the time," said Ginny. It still makes sense to me, thought Gabrielle. Even if it was wrong.

"So she ate a whole wedge of green cheese?"

"Seemed to really enjoy it too. She was completely oblivious to the shades of green she was turning."

"That girl's amazing," laughed Fred. Gabrielle knew she shouldn't smile at this kind of compliment, but did.

"Ah. So that's what this is about then, is it? You're jealous that she likes George more than you!" crowed Ginny.

"What? I'm bloody not jealous!" snapped Fred.

"Me thinks he dost protest too much."

"Me thinks you're the one who's Confunded now!"

There was a clattering crash in the entry hall. This was followed by the sound of Tonks cursing, and a smaller voice yelling, "Inna cor' bigjob! Off'al bizin'! Eas' now!"

Fred got up with a groan. "Duty calls."


	11. The Coven

Chapter Eleven - The Coven

When Fred and Ginny got up to investigate the ruckus in the entry hall, Gabrielle carefully crawled from under the table behind the sofa and crept after them. She was just in time to see Tonks drop the garden gnome at Fred's request. Tonks had apparently tripped over it. The poor creature landed on its head, but jumped up with a salute. The gnome swayed slowly.

"Report!" ordered Fred.

"Sah! A'notherized ap'prition, sah! Two o' dem. Ugly bigjobs too," piped the gnome. It rearranged its red cap to be slightly less lopsided.

"Where was this?" asked Fred. Gabrielle noticed he was very serious now, and the hairs on the back of her neck went up.

"De 'larm was from Shed by de lake."

"What lake?" asked Tonks.

"He means the swimming hole. It's a perspective thing," explained Fred. "Sure it wasn't Lake by the shed? No? Good. Good work, Sergeant. Now back to your post."

"Sah!" saluted the gnome with its chest puffed out. It spun unsteadily and headed for the sitting room.

"Bit more to the right, Sergeant," called Fred.

"Sah!" saluted the gnome again. It was now on a path more or less toward the door.

"Ginny, get Dad. What's happened Tonks?" asked Fred. Ginny saluted him too, but hurried off to the kitchen.

"McGonagall contacted the Order. Harry and Ron are missing. Hagrid, Pomfrey, and Pince searched the castle for them," informed Tonks. "You haven't heard from them, have you?"

"What's happened?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Two wizards apparated in by the swimming hole, and Harry and Ron can't be found," reported Fred. "Wait, did you say Madame Pince was looking for them?"

"Ginny dear, get Hermione, Fleur, and your wand. Get the Floo ready, Fred. I'll check the wards and the Fidelius," said Mr. Weasley. Gabrielle found herself chewing her nails in her nervousness. She remembered they had written about attacks in the paper, but that had seemed so distant. Gabrielle didn't know what to do - she had no wand. She would be useless in a fight, but she pulled out the knife from Gaston anyway. Gabrielle wished George was here to help. It was Fred's fault he was not.

Tonks went back to the door, and grew the window larger in it with her wand. She peered through the opening with her wand ready. Suddenly Tonks gasped, and Gabrielle almost screamed. Tonks wrenched open the door. "Wotcha Harry. Wotcha Ron. Fancy finding you here."

"'Lo Tonks. Can you give me a hand with Ron?" asked Harry. He started in through the door, Ron leaning so heavily on Harry that Harry's legs wobbled.

"Just... need.. to catch... my breath," wheezed Ron. "Blood-dy... Side... Along... crap."

"Sorry, mate. But, we're in time for dinner," said Harry.

"At least... some... good."

"Where the hell did you two come from?" asked Fred as he returned to the entry hall.

"The Fidelius is still in effect so we have some time to... Oh. Hello boys," greeted Mr. Weasley in surprise.

"What is 'appening?" demanded Fleur from the stairs. She had her wand out and Gabrielle could see she hadn't taken the time to remove the avocado and ground walnut shell deep exfoliating goo from her face. That sent a chill down Gabrielle's spine. For Fleur to appear like that meant she had expected something very serious, very quickly.

"It's all right now, dear. The boys just arrived a little unexpectedly, is all," called Mr. Weasley. Fred was staring at Fleur in open-mouthed horror.

"Zen I will return to my room. 'Ello 'Arry, " said Fleur as she turned to go back up the stairs.

"Er, hello, uh, Fleur?" greeted Harry.

Fred shook himself and asked again, "Where did you two come from?"

"We apparated together from Hogsmeade, then took the broom to the house," replied Harry.

"From Hogsmeade? In one go?" asked Fred.

"Yes."

"With Ron? From Hogsmeade? In one go?"

"Yes. I've done Side-Along with Professor Dumbledore before. This felt shorter," said Harry.

"Felt like forever to me," said Ron more strongly from where he leaned against the wall.

"That's quite a distance," marvelled Fred.

"You guys did it twice the other morning," noted Harry.

"George and I use three stops at various safe-houses each way," explained Fred. "I'm impressed Harry. And all without explicit Ministry permission as required by clause fourteen of your waiver."

"Oh. Er, since Ron has a license I, uh, figured the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell."

"We have raised you right!" beamed Fred. "Such casual manipulation of the rules."

"Ron! Harry! Thank goodness you're all right," cried Mrs. Weasley. She enveloped each of them in turn, with Ron getting an extra smothering hug.

"Oy, Mum, we're all right," said Ron in a deeper voice than normal. Gabrielle was amazed at how young Harry and Ron seemed with Mrs. Weasley clasping them to her chest. It suddenly occurred to Gabrielle that nobody had been sent to find her. She felt even more invisible than she actually was.

"Do you mind if we sit down?" asked Ron. "Er, I'm sure Harry could use a rest."

"I'm fine," said Harry with a shrug.

"I'll get dinner started," smiled Mrs. Weasley. She went back to the kitchen. Tonks followed her asking what would be on the menu.

Sounds of feet hurrying down the stairs drew Gabrielle's attention. Ginny, she realized, must have finally found Hermione.

"... and she's not in the attic. What if she went outside?" Hermione was saying to Ginny as they her to the top of the stairs. "What if they have captured her al... Ron!"

"Harry!" cried Ginny. She jumped onto the banister and slid to the bottom while Hermione ran down the stairs. Ginny raced to Harry. They entered a tight embrace and locked lips. Hermione reached Ron and gripped him tightly, peppering him with kisses. These displays made Gabrielle, who was already feeling insignificant, feel even lonelier. Being invisible wasn't as much fun if you were completely forgotten, thought Gabrielle. She wished she wasn't green. She wished George was here too, although she wouldn't get away with hanging all over him like Hermione and Ginny were doing with their boyfriends. Not that George, Gabrielle forced herself to remember, was her anything except in her silly, young schoolgirl imagining, as everyone says. He had thought of her earlier though. That made Gabrielle feel a little better, until she remembered why he wasn't here. That made Gabrielle angry with Fred again.

Hermione suddenly pulled back. "You should be resting Ron! At least sit down."

Mr. Weasley and Fred watched the two girls with a mixture of surprise and alarm. Gabrielle noticed that Fred's wand was tucked into his back pocket. A plan hatched.

"I'm doing all right. Take more than that to stop me," declared Ron in the extra deep voice. Gabrielle was trying to maneuver to behind Fred, but if Ron continued to act that way for Hermione then she knew it was likely she would have to laugh and be discovered.

"Don't be thick Ron. I'm surprised Madame Pomfrey let you out," said Hermione.

"Ahem," coughed Mr. Weasley. "Ahem!" Gabrielle stood behind Fred.

"Er, she didn't exactly let us go. We scarpered," explained Ron. Gabrielle started to reach out to snatch Fred's wand, and realized that she wouldn't be able to do it. How is it possible, Gabrielle wondered, to keep forgetting the mass swaddling her hand? Would she be able to use a wand in her other hand?

The real question, came Gabrielle's second thoughts, was why, after the morning's disaster, was she even thinking of touching another wand? Was she trying, in some subconscious way, to lose Beauxbatons? Was she afraid to find out that she was not a proper witch after all?

Gabrielle shook her head to clear the doubts. I don't necessarily intend to use it, she rationalized. Hiding it from him will be enough for now. Gabrielle shifted her stance to try her left hand, and saw Crookshanks staring at her. She reddened immediately, and that added to her embarrassment because she believed a cat was giving her a disapproving glare. Crookshanks slunk toward her and Fred. Gabrielle held her breath.

"Ahem!" coughed Mr. Weasley again. "That is to say: Ahem, her father is standing right next to you." Harry and Ginny untangled. Gabrielle wondered how quickly she could run and keep the cloak over her. And not trip over it. And not make noise. And the answer was obviously not very quickly. Certainly not quickly enough to avoid being exposed by Crookshanks.

"What do you mean - scarpered? You might need potions or healing spells. How could you even think to leave?" scolded Hermione.

"What could I do? Harry wanted to leave. I couldn't let him go alone," said Ron defensively.

"You almost died! You were run through with an arrow!"

"Pfft. Wasn't like it was a magic arrow," dismissed Ron. Crookshanks was only a few feet away when he leapt.

"I... - You... It, it..." sputtered Hermione. While Hermione tried to recover, Crookshanks landed. Fred, who had been watching Harry and Ginny, let out a yelp of surprise as the cat's claws dug in. His string of curses covered Gabrielle's gasp of shock. Crookshanks ran up one of Fred's legs, and Gabrielle grabbed the wand as Crookshanks ran down the other. Heart pounding, Gabrielle stepped back to the wall as Fred reached for where his wand had been, intending to use it on the retreating cat.

"Blasted cat!" shouted Fred. "Where's my wand?" He spun around with his eyes on the ground.

"You leave him alone. Don't think I don't know what you tried to do yesterday," warned Hermione. Gabrielle noticed two things. The first was that, unlike Ginny's wand, Fred's wand felt very balanced, very lively in a way. A wand for making trouble was the thought that came to her. The second thing she noticed was that Harry was staring right at where she was not supposed to be, turning his head back and forth slightly.

"Does the Burrow have any ghosts?" asked Harry.

"Hey what? Ghosts? I can't say I've ever noticed any," answered Mr. Weasley. "What makes you ask?"

"I just had the thing," complained Fred. Gabrielle was beginning to sense a catastrophe coming, and she started to slowly edge her way back to the sitting room.

"Was it in your back pocket?" laughed Tonks from the kitchen doorway.

"It's just that I thought I saw something that wasn't, um, quite there," said Harry to Mr. Weasley.

"You both need rest. Honestly, it's no wonder healers can be so grumpy. What with their patients completely ignoring common sense," said Hermione. She started pushing Ron toward the sitting room.

"Dibs on the sofa!" cried Ginny. She grabbed Harry's hand and yanked him after her.

"Oh no. Ron needs to lie down,' declared Hermione, and she pulled Ron along faster.

Fred reached into his boot and pulled out another wand. Gabrielle looked in horror at the onrushing teens - she had just made it to the doorway of the sitting room. Fred waved his wand, "_Accio_ The Mighty Pranker!"

The wand held loosely in Gabrielle's left hand flew from her grasp. It pulled the cloak from her as it sailed toward Fred. Her sudden revelation in the middle of the door frame came in time for the heavier Ron and Harry to stop themselves. Ginny and Hermione plowed into Gabrielle and they all tumbled to the floor. Gabrielle rolled upright with her hand to her nose. It was bleeding. She took a look at her green hand through watering eyes and could tell her nose was bleeding a lot. Please, thought Gabrielle as she tilted her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose, please let it not be broken.

"Gabrielle! Are you all right?" asked Hermione as she crawled over to her.

"D'oh, I'b dot," replied Gabrielle. Ginny and Hermione fussed over her adding to her discomfort, and Harry stepped forward to stop the bleeding with his wand. Then came the laughter and comments over the green blobs still meandering across her skin. She was proclaimed the French Frog. At least pink patches sometimes showed up now.

"But Eff-eff doesn't sound so good. You'll have to be Effy," declared Fred. Surprisingly, he was not particularly angry about her trying to take his wand. In fact, he seemed almost impressed that she had taken both his wand and Harry's cloak.

More embarrassment arrived in the form of Mrs. Weasley. She brought her big medical book and an ice pack, and tapped Gabrielle's injured nose painfully with her wand several times. Mrs. Weasley also took the time to express her disappointment over Gabrielle's skin with a series of sighs and sad looks. She ordered Gabrielle upstairs to lie down.

"Why don't you girls see her upstairs?" suggested Mr. Weasley. "I'd like a... talk... with the boys here."

"This should be cracking," said Fred gleefully.

"You sit down now, Ron," ordered Hermione. Ginny gathered up Harry's cloak.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. Gabrielle could hear his sigh of relief as he sat though.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle sat on her bed in Ginny's room with the ice pack pressed to her face, angry with the world. She was angry with Fred for keeping George away, for having two wands, and for pulling the cloak off her. She was angry with Ginny for running to the sitting room and for having a really, really hard shoulder. She was angry with Harry for his healing spell because she didn't want him to only see her when she was bleeding, and for staring when she wasn't supposed to be there. She was angry with Crookshanks for possibly damaging the cloak with his claws so it didn't work perfectly, and for distracting Fred so she could take the wand and get in trouble. She was angry with Mrs. Weasley because Mrs. Weasley wasn't angry with her but so disappointed. She was angry with Hermione for trampling her, and for trying to include her in the conversation now when she really wanted to sulk alone. The last thing Gabrielle wanted to talk about was the wedding, and when Hermione asked her about the guests coming from France for the second time Gabrielle snapped, "Why do you not have ze tan lines?" Gabrielle knew it was very rude and that it would embarrass and anger Hermione, but she hoped it would make them leave her be.

It worked in one sense. Hermione colored and was clearly annoyed. Gabrielle, however, didn't expect her to fire back, "Why do you keep asking Fleur if Bill is hurting her?"

Gabrielle was caught off guard. "I do not," she blurted, knowing that it sounded just like the lie it was. She was sure she had not told anyone else of her concerns.

"(You asked her this morning at breakfast,)" said Hermione.

Gabrielle's mouth snapped shut after it had dropped open at Hermione's very passable French. Could this day, she wondered, get any worse? Gabrielle tried to think what else Hermione might have overheard.

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny sharply.

"I..." Gabrielle started, but she couldn't help but think of what Fleur might do if she told them. She needed time to think, so she dove beneath the blankets on the bed.

"What did she say?" demanded Ginny to Hermione.

"Gabrielle asked Fleur, this morning, if Bill had hurt her again like the other morning," replied Hermione. "Fleur told her not to say that, and that Bill would never hurt her." Apparently, grumbled Gabrielle to herself, Hermione's French was quite good. It may be better if Ginny did not learn any.

"How could Beebee say that?" asked Ginny.

"Let's find out," said Hermione. The blankets that hid Gabrielle from the world were suddenly jerked away. Gabrielle saw Hermione with her wand out, and decided Hermione was a bit too much like Fleur. Hermione cast some spells on the door and turned back to the bed. "Now, Gabrielle, tell us what happened."

"You will use ze curse on me again?" stalled Gabrielle. Hermione had not put her wand away.

"Probably not. You can't say things like that without explaining them."

I didn't know, thought Gabrielle, that I was saying them to you also. That wasn't very fair. Although, realized Gabrielle, Hermione was neither Weasley nor Delacour. Maybe Hermione could help.

"(Yesterday morning Fleur needed the unctions Ginny used on me when I, eh, fell. I was getting them for her and saw bruises on her neck. She said she was sore also,)" explained Gabrielle. It would not be her fault if Hermione told Ginny. "(Fleur said Bill did not hurt her, but he had.)"

"What's she saying?" asked Ginny.

"She said Fleur had bruises on her neck yesterday morning and was sore," reported Hermione.

"That was after a night with a full moon!" gasped Ginny. "You don't think it is getting worse?"

"(Did Fleur say anything else?)" asked Hermione.

"(She said when the moon is full Bill is very possessive and takes what he wants, which is her!)" said Gabrielle. "(Fleur said she looks forward to...)" Gabrielle stopped. What Fleur had said didn't make sense to her. Perhaps she hadn't heard it correctly.

"(Looks forward to what?)" Hermione looked confused at the words also.

"Tell me what she said," said Ginny.

"(Eh, I thought she said she looks forward to moonlit nights,)" continued Gabrielle. "(But perhaps I did not hear it right.)"

Hermione ignored Ginny's pleas for translations and sat down on Gabrielle's bed. After a bit, Hermione pronounced, "Um, eww."

"What? What?" demanded Ginny. "Maybe I need to nick George's book."

"(What do you mean by that? You saw her this morning - Fleur never acted like that at home,)" Gabrielle said to Hermione.

"I, er, think that Fleur and, um, Bill are having intimate, er, relations, do you see?" Hermione started to pink. "Perhaps, er, enthusiastic, as it were, relations." Gabrielle did not see.

"They're shagging!?!" exclaimed Ginny. "They aren't married yet!"

"(What do you mean? Speak plainly, please!)" asked Gabrielle.

"(I think Bill and Fleur are having, er...) I don't know the word. (That they are very romantic. At night. In one bed,)" explained Hermione. "(They are very, um, vigorously romantic.)"

Gabrielle bristled. Of course Hermione would think that. She probably thought all girls from France were tarts. Fleur was raised properly. "Zat is not right. Why would she act so strange?"

"What was strange about the way she acted? She's under a lot of stress with the wedding coming." asked Hermione.

"She... eh, she was, eh, nice to me," Gabrielle mumbled out the last part. How pathetic do you have to be, Gabrielle wondered, that someone being nice to you is a sign of a problem? The older girls burst out laughing. "Stop zat! What if it was one of you? Fleur might need help!"

"What, do you want to spy on them? If they are shagging then they'll have privacy spells on the room," said Hermione. Gabrielle's anger flickered again as she recalled Fleur ordering Bill to seal the door to his room. The devotions, thought Gabrielle. Is Bill making her do them? He must be stopped.

"But they aren't married yet," said Ginny again. "Mum will go spare if she finds out."

"You know, being married isn't actually required Ginny," said Hermione.

"Oh, really? This is where we hear about the tan lines. Or lack of them."

v - v - v - v - v

It was like they were a coven, thought Gabrielle. She remembered her Grandmere speaking of such things. Hermione had asked them to swear to keep each others' secrets. Ginny had added a pledge to help each other. They had crossed wands while repeating the vows. Well, Ginny and Hermione had crossed wands. Gabrielle had used the knife from Gaston. A wand helps you make things like you want them to be, reasoned Gabrielle, and that's what she used the various blades and implements on the knife for. Like when it came to Maman's kitchen gadgets, for example, or the hinges on the cabinets. It was her wand, Gabrielle had explained.

Hermione then told them about Majorica and her cousin's theory of boys, and the experiments and practices she had made Hermione do. Gabrielle was pretty sure that Hermione was in no position to be calling anyone a tart. Finally, after Ginny reminded Hermione that she still hadn't gotten to the tan line question, Hermione admitted that she and her cousin had spent a week of afternoons at a nude beach. It was for lessons in comparative anatomy and the demystification of the human form added the red-faced Hermione quickly. Gabrielle was glad Hermione could explain that in French as well, though it was hard to hear her over Ginny's howls. Ginny then tried to get Hermione to describe the various parts of the human form that were no longer a mystery to her, which Hermione did not find funny. Gabrielle couldn't imagine such a thing and asked about sunburn. Hermione said the muggle suntan lotion they used protected the newly exposed areas. She also advised putting it on before going as girls rubbing lotion on each other attracts rather a lot of attention. That set Ginny off again.

Mrs. Weasley called them for dinner. Gabrielle headed downstairs in a far better mood than she had gone up in. She was mostly the right color, except for five head-sized blobs of green that still roamed her skin. A sixth one seemed to be quite at home on her stomach and it didn't move much. Her nose felt slightly swollen, but Ginny and Hermione assured her that there was no bruising. But it was the idea of the coven that had most brightened her mood; that she was accepted and entrusted by fellow witches as one herself. Of course Fleur would notice her nose and be angry over her green patches, and the others would probably laugh at her, but now Gabrielle felt these things were manageable. The coven would be there.

Gabrielle stood at the door to the kitchen and frowned. Ginny went ahead and sat next to Harry, and Hermione sat next to Ron. Both boys looked oddly apprehensive, and Harry even jumped a little when Ginny embraced him. The problem for Gabrielle was where to sit. George was, in fact, not there. She had held out some hope that he would see through Fred's manipulations, and be there.

The table was crowded again. Gabrielle supposed most of the extra witches and wizards were aurors. Ginny sat between Harry and Tonks. Hermione sat next to Ron, leaving a seat open between her and Fleur. That would probably not be a very fun place to sit, thought Gabrielle. There was a seat open next to Fred. Was he saving it for her, or did the others still expect George to arrive? Was it really possible, wondered Gabrielle, that Fred was jealous of George? She would have to find out.

Gabrielle dropped into the open seat beside Fred, smiling and waving to the laughs the prank she bore garnered. It actually worked to quiet the laughing. She never would have tried it if Ginny had not suggested it earlier. Ginny felt that people were less inclined to keep laughing if they thought you had done something just for the attention. The power of the coven, thought Gabrielle. She continued to hold the smile on her face despite the exasperated looks from Fleur and Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle had to wonder if Fleur wasn't just a bit jealous that, even though they laughed, people had noticed her.

"Oy. I was saving that for George. We've got business to discuss," said Fred.

"George will not be here. You know zis," Gabrielle said quietly. She noticed Bill whispering in Fleur's ear. Fleur had not voiced her objections to Gabrielle's state in French nor English. That was unusual. Perhaps Hermione would overhear something, since Gabrielle did not think that Fleur knew that Hermione could understand French. The power of the coven again.

"Do I?" asked Fred in a tone of innocence. "Oh wait, that's right. You were sneaking about under the cloak, weren't you Effy?" he added quietly with a smirk. "Not half bad at it either. George was..." he added half to himself before stopping.

Gabrielle lost her smile. These nicknames have to stop, she thought. "I was not. I was, eh, hiding. From Fleur and your mozzer."

Fred had turned away though and was speaking to the beefy wizard on his right about quidditch, possibly. At least quaffles had been mentioned. How rude, thought Gabrielle. As more guests arrived, she tried to see how the table expanded. There always seemed to be enough room for one more chair if the others were shuffled over a bit. The extra people could not all be aurors. One was a wizened old witch who looked to be a century and a half old. She squeezed a chair between Gabrielle and the blond wizard with the grave face. He had not seemed to notice Gabrielle's arrival at all as he stared longingly toward Fleur. The old witch greeted him as Bootsey.

"Hello child. I can see you're not one of Arthur's. I am Professor Griselda Marchbanks," the elderly witch introduced herself to Gabrielle.

"I am pleased to meet you," returned Gabrielle politely. "I am..."

"Gertie, this is Effy Delacour. Effy, Gertie Marchbanks," interrupted Fred.

"No. I am..." started Gabrielle again.

"You would do well not to forget to whom you are speaking young man! Gertie, indeed. You and your brother may want to sit for your N.E.W.T.s yet," admonished the ancient Professor. "Now Effy - is that short for something? You must be Fleur's little sister. I believe I saw you at the TriWizard Tournament."

"Yes. But, eh, Madame Professor, my name is not Effy. My name..."

"I believe reviewing the incidents in the years 1842 and 1847 will show that, deep down, you're still a Gertie," laughed Fred.

"Some of us out-grow the excesses of youth, and I'm too old to be embarrassed. On the other hand, I'm sure Molly has some adorable pictures of you she could share. I'll wager little Effy would enjoy seeing your birthday suit," replied Griselda.

"Ha. She'd want the other one. But I will yield at the time, Madame Professor," grinned Fred.

"My name is not Effy. My name is Gabrielle Delacour," asserted Gabrielle amid the loud thuds from the entry hall. She might as well not have spoken at all as the old witch's attention was elsewhere. When she also turned to look, Gabrielle could see the old auror Moody feeling his way through the door. He walked unsteadily, and his weird glass eye wheeled crazily. Gabrielle could see that his normal eye did not seemed too focused either. How, Gabrielle wondered, did he manage to get here?

Tonks got up to meet him as he staggered toward the table, but he brushed off her help. Mrs. Weasley appeared at his side and was not so easily dismissed. The matron guided him to the seat between Fleur and Hermione. "I'm not so bad off that I can't find my own seat," grumbled Moody. "It's just this damned eye is still giving me problems."

"Which eye eez zat?" asked Fleur.

"I thought you were in St. Mungo's for a week?" asked Hermione.

"Bah! Best way to heal is to get moving again," declared the old auror. "Now, why have I got three plates?"

Gabrielle turned back to the Madame Professor to clarify her name, but the elderly witch was now speaking to Bootsey. Gabrielle could hear them speaking, but for some reason it sounded like complete gibberish. She sighed; Fred had won that round.

Mrs. Weasley soon levitated large platters of food onto the table, and there was much commotion as the dishes were passed back and forth. Gabrielle was handicapped by the bandages, and only had asparagus and a bun on her plate until Mrs. Weasley filled the rest. It was a little embarrassing, until Gabrielle saw Mrs. Weasley also add to the plates of Ron, Harry, and Bill. The last earned her a glare from Fleur. Gabrielle used a spoon to add gravy to her meat as she could not manage the gravy boat with on hand. She realized she would not be able to cut up her food either. George had taken care of that at breakfast.

"Eh, Fred, pardonez-moi, please, will you cut my food?" asked Gabrielle. Fred ignored her. He had been talking with the wizard beside him, but now Fred was just stuffing his face. Fred is being childish, concluded Gabrielle. She shifted in her seat and kicked Fred in the shin.

"Aah," grunted Fred. He reached down to rub his leg. "What was that about?"

"It is difficult to cut my food wiz ze bandages. I , eh, slipped. I am sorry," said Gabrielle. She smiled as innocently as she could and asked, "Please, will you cut my food?"

Fred gave her a decidedly sour look and carelessly waved his wand. The food on Gabrielle's plate fell into pieces, but most were still too large while the rest were mere slivers. That was a very poor effort, thought Gabrielle. She was pretty sure now that Fred was not interested in her attention, but she should make sure.

"Monsieur Moody, zat eez my potato," chided Fleur. "Non, no. You may keep eet now," added Fleur as Moody made to return the remaining piece.

"Fred," said Gabrielle. She kicked him in the shin again, lightly, in case he wasn't listening. "Ze pieces are still too big."

"My apologies, your highness," said Fred. He slashed at her plate with his wand. Now her food was diced into pieces too small for a fork.

"Is zis because I did not kiss you zis morning also?" asked Gabrielle. The question fell into one of those odd moments of quiet that happen at dinner parties, and seemed much louder than she intended. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed her luck.

The question seemed to echo through the room as the gathered crowd repeated it for those who hadn't heard it, for those who didn't believe what they had heard, and for those who thought it was funny. Gabrielle scooped up a spoonful of meat granules and jammed it in her mouth. She didn't think she would be able to swallow it - her throat felt dry and her face felt hot. But it would keep her from saying anything else that was stupid.

"I wouldn't be kissing on the boys at your age, Effy," advised Madame Marchbanks. "You can get a bit of a reputation that way. Trust me on that." Gabrielle wished the floor would swallow her.

Gabrielle risked a glance at Fleur. Fleur's hair shimmered every time her bobbed slightly. She's counting, realized Gabrielle. Fleur is counting like Maman. Was this a good thing or bad thing? It did not, frankly, seem to help Maman very much at all.

Gabrielle looked to Ginny and Hermione. Ginny looked like she was thinking about something. Hermione was talking quietly to Alastor Moody. Gabrielle noticed the old auror was eating randomly from his plate, Hermione's plate, and Fleur's plate. Fleur had ceded her plate to him and ate from Bill's plate. In front of Hermione was a stack of books. Those must be the ones from Hogwarts, thought Gabrielle. Perhaps Harry had shrunk them, as she didn't remember seeing them when the boys had arrived.

Gabrielle did not look at Mrs. Weasley, in case she had worked out what else the question implied. Nor did she look at Fred. He was making kissy sounds next to her. On the bright side, she considered, she was making good headway on her dinner as she kept her mouth full and ignored questions and alleged humor.

In the end, it was the creepy Alastor Moody who saved her. "Right then, Potter. You tell us what happened, eh?" he boomed over the chatter. Gabrielle saw Hermione give her a nod when she turned toward Harry. The coven had helped yet again.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was glad to have eaten so much already, since now she was too excited, too anxious to eat more. Harry told a harrowing tale, culminating in the display of the blood-crusted button that had saved his life. Except that, Gabrielle shuddered, it wasn't a story but a blow-by-blow account of an actual event that had actually happened to someone she actually knew.

The mood at the table was somber. Certainly her gaffe was forgotten. It seemed a good number of the guests had known Bitters Savage. After Harry was allowed to continue his meal, there was some discussion over why the auror had acted that way. Gabrielle noticed that Ron and Harry, who might have known the answer, kept their eyes on their plates and their mouths full - although Ron usually had his mouth full. She recognized that tactic and wondered what was wrong.

Ginny held up a pink sheet of muggle paper. "Harry, what's this?" asked Ginny.

"Er... it's something about depression,"' mumbled Harry.

"I meant, who is Jenny Pinnock? And is this a fellytone number?" asked Ginny with a crispness in her voice and a glare in her eye.

"Uh... Oh. Umm..." stumbled Harry. Gabrielle could see Ron's ears turning red. "I... thought she was you. From behind. Not that I was specifically, er, looking..."

"Muggles penetrated the wards around the way-points?" asked Moody loudly.

Harry and Ron exchanged grimaces. "No. Not, er, exactly," mumbled Harry.

Gabrielle watched as Harry and Ron seemed to shrink in their seats as more details of the earlier confrontation with Mr. Savage were pulled from them. There seemed to be a consensus around the table that stopping for lunch had showed a complete lack of respect for security measures, and which Fred found amusing. A good portion of the crowd also seemed to share the sentiment Professor Marchbanks had whispered: "That sounds like Bit Savage, to be sure."

Gabrielle didn't quite understand why Harry hexing Mr. Savage's breakfast would cause so much wincing, among the wizards at least, but figured that Savage must have been like Ron when it came to food. Alastor Moody pushed aside questions about the disillusionment spells and wanted to hear more about what happened after the battle. He especially wanted to know, as he glared not quite at Harry nor Ron, why they did not wait for an escort.

v - v - v - v - v

After dinner Harry, who had been reprimanded and upbraided by most of the adults at the table, stormed to his room in a clearly foul mood. So foul that several picture frames shattered as he stalked past. Hermione followed him at a distance, using her wand to repair the trail of minor destruction. Ron was put to bed early as well, for the 'proper rest he should have had.' Gabrielle and Ginny headed upstairs to the room they shared. The aurors and others were meeting in the kitchen and they were locked out.

When Hermione knocked on the bedroom door a short time later, Ginny quit her pacing and hand-wringing and let the older witch in. Gabrielle had been poking the green skin on her stomach. It seemed to be the last patch. She pulled her shirt back down when Ginny opened the door.

"How is he?" asked Ginny.

"Ron's fine, really. He probably should have stayed at Hogwarts just to be sure," replied Hermione. Gabrielle doubted that was who Ginny had meant.

"And Harry?" asked Ginny. Gabrielle had expected more theatre than that.

"Angry and frustrated, but not enough to set the house on fire." Hermione turned and waved her wand at the door several times. "Now," Hermione said folding her arms across her chest."What did you do with Harry?"

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny. Gabrielle had a pretty good idea of what Hermione meant.

"The medieval English long bow could fire an arrow through a quarter inch of mild steel from thirty yards away. The centaur bows are bigger than those and are drawn by a magical creature. Harry said Bane was no more than thirty feet away when he shot. A muggle, plastic button can not have stopped the arrow. I want to know what protective ritual you did on Harry, and I want to know now!" demanded Hermione. Red sparks popped from her wand.

"Calm down, Hermione! What's gotten into you?" asked Ginny.

"Ron almost died! He might say it was nothing but when I stopped in before he had his shirt off. I could see where the arrows went in. And came back out. If Harry hadn't been there Ron would be dead. Just like when he was poisoned..." Hermione took a steadying breath. "You did something to protect Harry. I want to do the same to protect Ron."

Ginny looked uncertainly at Gabrielle. Gabrielle had no doubts. They were a coven, sworn to keep each others' secrets and to help each other. "It is a Veela spell," said Gabrielle. "It is in a book from my Grandmere."

"You can't tell anyone else. Especially Mum. Swear to it," said Ginny desperately. She snatched up her wand from the bedside table and help it before her. Hermione crossed her wand with Ginny's, then looked at Gabrielle expectantly. Gabrielle was almost bursting with pride as she solemnly drew out her knife, selected the longest blade, and crossed the two wands.

"I swear it," declared Hermione.

"I swear it, also," declared Gabrielle.

Ginny went to chest by her bed and unlocked it. She pulled out a smaller box and unlocked that. From inside she pulled out her Book of Standard Spells, Level One, and handed it to Hermione. Hermione opened it and Gabrielle could see her Grandmere's book held inside by some cloth and tape.

"Ze spells are at ze back," explained Gabrielle. Hermione held the book open to the middle with a look of shock on her face.

"I thought the human form was demystified for you?" asked Ginny. She prodded Hermione on the shoulder.

"I never... What?" blinked Hermione. "Tell me this isn't what you did with Harry, is it?" She turned the book toward Gabrielle and Ginny. It showed a graphic woodcut of one of the devotions.

"No!" chorused both Gabrielle and Ginny. She can't really have that low an opinion of us, thought Gabrielle.

"Ah. Because that would be quite a step," murmured Hermione.

"Zey are in ze back. Let me show you," said Gabrielle. She pulled the book from Hermione's hands and found the spell Ginny had used.

Hermione sank to the bed, lips moving as she read the tortured text. She asked Gabrielle to translate some of the more obscure words, then she rubbed her forehead.

"So... completely starkers?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," replied Ginny, blushing a little.

"Him too? I mean... completely?" Ginny only nodded in reply.

"Ze human, eh , form is not mysterious," reminded Gabrielle. It looked like Hermione was going to get all wound up again. It was funny when she sputtered.

"Well from a distance, no. But mashed together? With all the rubbing and touching and sliding about and..."

"That's enough, Hermione," ordered the much pinker Ginny.

"This seems like the kind of thing where, er, things could get out of hand. Or drop into place, as it were," said Hermione. She was catching up to Ginny in the color department.

"Speaking of accidents," began Ginny. The color now drained from Hermione's face.

"Oh no. Ginny! You... you're not?" asked Hermione with her hands to her face.

"No!" thundered Ginny. "What kind of girl do you think I am? I'm not like F..." Ginny stopped with a quick glance toward Gabrielle. Vaguely insulted but not sure why, Gabrielle crossed her arms.

"I'm not like, um, that. I was just wondering if you knew the, the accident prevention charm?" asked Ginny. Hermione gave her a blank look. "The anti-oopsy spell? The no-bun-in-my-oven charm?"

It was Hermione's turn for outrage. "And why would you think I knew that?" snapped Hermione.

"Well, because they cover it in sixth year?"

"Oh. Right," said Hermione sheepishly.

"What may happen?" asked Gabrielle. "Do you zink you will fall off ze bed?"


	12. Not Dead yet

Chapter Twelve - Not Dead Yet

I am not as naïve as that, thought Gabrielle on her way to the kitchen. She just had not made the connection between the general discussion she had had with Maman and the very specific pictures in the book. At least as a coven the older girls had tried to refrain from laughing, although the sniggering was just as bad. It had been fun, though, listening to Hermione try to lecture on the topic. Every time she explained something, Ginny would ask in a suggestive voice, "Oh? And you know how?" Hermione would then launch into a flustered explanation of how she had acquired that tidbit of knowledge until she finally resorted to throwing laundry at Ginny.

Gabrielle picked out a new spell for Ginny. It's aim was to add to the warrior's power in battle. Hermione suggested that Ginny stick to protection spells, doubting Harry would have much cause to swing a sword at anything. Ginny said in a quiet voice that Harry had done that once before for her. The two said nothing for a while after that. Gabrielle asked if they could help her check on Bill and Fleur.

Hermione thought that spying on them would be difficult, though she said Fleur had left the room they shared at about eleven o'clock last night. She hadn't heard Fleur return in the night. Gabrielle wanted to follow Fleur, but Ginny said that she didn't plan on giving up the cloak. That didn't seem fair to Gabrielle. Ginny pointed out that it was she who recovered the cloak after Fred had pulled it off of Gabrielle.

Gabrielle then asked Hermione about the disillusionment spell. Hermione had never cast it, but told Gabrielle that she would have Harry show it to her tomorrow. She didn't recommend asking Harry tonight because he shouldn't be casting spells on anyone in his mood. Gabrielle told her sister coven members that they were not taking Fleur's problem seriously and that they should be helping her more. Gabrielle was told that tomorrow night they would all be look-outs to see what Fleur did, and could Gabrielle please go get the candles?

The kitchen was not empty when she entered. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley were sitting at the table. They stopped their quiet discussion when Gabrielle came in.

"Hello Gabrielle, dear. What is it?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Hello Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley. I, eh, need some candles," greeted Gabrielle as she smiled her best smile. Please let it work, she thought.

"The candles are in the top of the pantry," said Mrs. Weasley. She rose from her seat.

"Zank you. I know where zey are. Please, I will get zem," said Gabrielle.

"All right, dear."

"Eh, I need many candles..."

"Really? What for?" asked Mr. Weasley. Gabrielle mentally kicked herself for provoking the question, and for not having a cover story ready again.

"Eh, Hermione is going to, eh, enchant zem. For, eh, a game," lied Gabrielle nervously.

"Ah. Sounds like fun. You can run along," said Mr. Weasley.

"Zank you." Gabrielle gave them a wave as she pushed open the door to the kitchen proper.

"Cor, you're a terrible liar."

Surprised, Gabrielle squealed. Fred, at least it was probably Fred, was standing by the sink. He put down the towel and the plate he was drying.

"What are you going to do with the candles then, Effy?" he asked.

"Nozzing. Zey are for Hermione," replied Gabrielle. That was not a lie, but a partial truth. She moved closer to him and smiled more. His ears did not change color. It was Fred.

"That does not work on me, you know." Fred took a step back.

"Did you stay to get ze kiss?" Gabrielle asked as a joke, moving closer still.

"Oy, knock that off," said Fred in a worried voice. He raised his arms defensively.

Gabrielle looked at him in shock. Is he really afraid of me, she wondered? "I like George. I like you, also. I am not Fleur."

"It's not that I don't like you Beebee, but I think ol' George likes you too much." Fred slid away from her. "Ron still loses it around Fleur if he's caught off-guard. It's not good for a bloke."

He has lost his senses, thought Gabrielle. I am nothing like Fleur. Although, her second thoughts added, you did corner him. What if her Veela heritage was starting to come forth? Would she be like Fleur?

"If I am like Fleur, zen you must obey me. Get ze candles for me! Eh, please?" Gabrielle commanded, sort of. She waved her bandaged hand imperiously, then switched hands when she realized it probably did not look regal. Fred responded instantly. He burst out laughing, and kept laughing until he was holding his sides. Gabrielle tried to kick his shin again, but he was too quick.

"Obey me. Ha!" Fred gasped. He reached high up into the pantry and pulled out a sack, while wiping his eyes. "There you are, your highness. Any further royal decrees for this humble knight?" He bowed with a flourish.

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. She was pondering the turn of events. Fred had laughed at her and was mocking her, at least she was pretty sure he was, but she held the candles.

"What else do you want? I live only to serve you!" declared Fred earnestly, then he snorted and laughed at his own joke.

"I would like George and you to be at breakfast," requested Gabrielle.

"George is a busy man," replied Fred more seriously.

"It is more fun," said Gabrielle. She smiled at the thought, and added, "It is my, eh, command." Gabrielle waved her hand in front of Fred in case that was important to make it work.

Fred laughed again. "Now you're just being daft. My command... Hah! The Daft Delacour - hey, Deedee would be good too," said Fred with a snicker as he headed out of the kitchen proper.

Gabrielle checked the kitchen for left-over pastries and found none. She decided to blame Ron. Gabrielle wondered what Mr. And Mrs. Weasley were discussing. If that was her Maman and Papa talking like that, she would already be hiding her 'muggle junk' from them. With the cloak she might be able to find out what was going on.

Gabrielle was just starting up the stairs when she saw out of the corner of her eye a small bit of red duck out of sight. It must be more garden gnomes, thought Gabrielle. They might be bringing a package from George. She put the sack of candles on the stairs, and walked slowly around to the side of the stairs so as not to frighten them. There was nothing to see, except for a small cupboard under the stairs. Gabrielle pulled on the handle and felt resistance. When she released the little door, it pulled itself shut. She put her ear to the gap.

"Dat wuz a clos'un," said a voice inside.

"I still don' like dis," said another.

"I ken dat," acknowledged the first. "But it be far trade, rit."

"Why 'ide it from Gred? Ne'er did dat 'fore," complained the second.

"Shut ya gob. Dere's a reason I'm pullin' on dis door, ya ken?" hissed the first.

Gabrielle pulled on the handle again, "Hello? Is zere someone zere?" The door tried to close itself.

"No," answered the second.

"Ya got da brain o' a beetle! Shuddup and hide!" cried the first. Gabrielle pulled on the door again and it opened easily. There were a couple of boxes and many pairs of green rubber boots inside. One boot had a small red cap caught on the top of the leg. As she watched, it was slowly drawn inside the boot.

"You can come out. I will not hurt you," called Gabrielle softly. She tipped the boot upside-down, carefully. Nothing came out except the red cap. Gabrielle shook it gently.

"Coop! I'm copped. Save yerself!" shouted a little voice from deep in the boot.

"Eas' now bigjob. Don' make me use dis," quavered a voice by her ear. Gabrielle turned toward the voice. It came from another red-capped garden gnome, who stood on a box holding a small rock and was torn between boldly holding his position and hiding behind the box.

"What is it?" asked Gabrielle. She assumed it was something more; that George and Fred gave their Second Corps something to protect themselves with.

The gnome squinted at Gabrielle, then the rock, and then her again. "Itsa rock. Ya ken? A rrr-aww-kkk." Gabrielle's lips thinned at that.

"What are you doing here? Are you looking for me?" asked Gabrielle. The boot in her hand jiggled and she looked down at it. Two short legs in dirty brown trousers flailed at the air.

"I'm slippin'!" cried the second voice in despair. "Ah'm dun fer now."

"Shuddup! Rit. Ya put 'im doon eas' now bigjob," ordered the one called Coop.

"I will not hurt you," repeated Gabrielle. She lowered the boot until the feet on the short legs touched the ground. The gnome let go of the boot and a box the size of his chest tumbled out onto his head. Gabrielle reached for the package, and the rock bounced painfully off her knuckles. She drew her hand back and turned angrily to Coop. He shifted uneasily with his hands behind his back.

"Eas' now! Uh, I got 'nother rock," asserted Coop.

"Zat hurt," glared Gabrielle. She leaned a little to try and see behind him.

"An' dat ain't yers," said the gnome, twisting away from her.

"Uh, Coop?" called the second gnome.

"Who is the parcel for?" asked Gabrielle.

"How's dat yer bizin' bigjob?" retorted Coop.

"Uh, Coop. Da hair, Coop," said the second gnome. He had recovered his cap, but crouched behind the box he had carried.

"Shuddup Pipe! Dat's dried feverfew, not yella."

Gabrielle pulled a lock of her hair loose and looked at it. It was the same silvery blond it always was. She would not call it 'yella' either, but surely it had more to it than the dried stalks of a medicinal plant. Mrs. Weasley had a supply of potion ingredients. Gabrielle decided she would have to see if there was any dried feverfew, and compare. Perhaps feverfew was different in Britain.

"No Coop. Dat's de bigjob we's lookin' fer. Same as las' time," said Pipe.

Coop, the gnome that had thrown the rock, glared at his compatriot. "Ye could've said dat 'fore I trew da rock!" He turned to Gabrielle and, holding his red cap in his hands, apologized. "S'ry 'bout da rock."

"I zought you had anozzer?" asked Gabrielle. She reached again for the package. The gnome called Pipe jumped away to cower behind a boot.

"I might've," said Coop. "Rit. If'n ye can just back yer nog out, we'll be off."

"What? No grub? Dat box was more'n rocks," complained the partially hidden Pipe.

Gabrielle held the box. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. Her inclination to reward their efforts was offset by the thrown rock, though. "What is a nog?" she asked.

"It'd be wots blockin' da door," said Coop. Gabrielle wasn't paying much attention. She had moved on to deciding where to open the package: whether to find someplace to open it in private or to share it with the coven. She was really curious as to what George thought she might like. Gabrielle did not think the coven would tease her too much, but what if Hermione decided that the present was too romantic and joined Fred's campaign?

"Hey! Bigjob!" called Coop, interrupting her thoughts. "We'd go, rit? If ye move yerself?"

"Oh. I am sorry. Eh, can you tell..." Gabrielle started to move out of the way, then stopped as a thought came to her. These gnomes had delivered a package from George. Could they deliver a message back to George? "Eh, you can tell George and Fred from each ozzer?"

"Ne'er 'eard of dem."

Gabrielle realized her mistake. "You can tell Forge and Gred from each ozzer?"

"Yeah. Is eas', rit?" replied Coop.

"If I give you food in ze morning, will you take a letter to, eh, Forge?" asked Gabrielle.

The gnome called Coop scratched his lumpy head, trying to work out her request. "Dis, uh, letter - is it heavy?"

"It is a paper," remembered Gabrielle. "For, eh, Forge only."

"I dun like dis," muttered Pipe.

"Den keep yer gob shut when de bigjobs are lookin' fer ya, rit? Dis is on yeh," reprimanded Coop. He turned back to Gabrielle, "Yeah. We can take da paper to Forge, in see-crat, rit. If yeh put it b'hind de ol' milk box, we'll fin' it."

"Zank you," said Gabrielle. She would be able to thank George for the gift, and explain how she and Ginny were not allowed to visit the shop. Gabrielle would have to decide on whether to tell George about Fred's plotting or not. She didn't want them to be angry at her, or each other. Her thoughts were interrupted again.

"Ya goin' to move? Or do I look fer a bed 'ere?" asked Coop.

Gabrielle backed away from the little closet, and the two gnomes scurried away. She put the parcel into the sack with the candles, and went upstairs.

v - v - v - v - v

Lord Voldemort smiled, in a good humor. The meeting site was prepared: a lonely, decrepit manor house made palatable through enchantments and the hard labor of house-elves. A simple wooden table in an unadorned room was ready. Plain wooden chairs for the Ministry supplicants, and a tall leather wingback for him.

The port-key that would bring the Ministry's representatives to him was on its way by owl. It had been the first legal one he had ever done. The Dark Lord laughed and set the permit for the port-key alight with his wand. Let the fools issue permits for what he would do anyway, thought Lord Voldemort. That's what the coming negotiations amounted to. A thin veneer of legality would let him operate openly and be able to draw many more to his side. He would lead a political party. A growing faction in the Ministry already owed him fealty, whether they knew it or not. It would have, thought the Dark Lord, all the trappings of a populist movement, and be buttressed by the shadowy works of his Death Eaters. There would need to be a few high profile defections to the party to get things started, and the right press. Both were available with the magic of money. After that, and perhaps the mysterious disappearance of a few critics, all it would take would be a national crisis. The giants would provide that. Most of his Death Eaters would need to be sacrificed, but, Lord Voldemort smiled, he would be recognized as the 'right man' at the 'right time'. A few emergency decrees, a few minor purges of the old guard, and Britain would be his in six months. When he was the new Minister-for-life, what then could Potter do?

Turning his attention back to the body of the house-elf that lay split open on the table, the Dark Lord used both knife and wand to remove internal organs. Other than the organs being of unnatural size and stunted shape, there seemed to be nothing to explain the house-elf's ability to apparate. He had hoped to find a new gland or organ, something that could be extracted into a amulet or talisman. The bones of the ankle were different, but that seemed to be more involved with physical locomotion than the magical movement Lord Voldemort was after. Well, thought the Dark Lord, there's still what little brain it has to look at. If nothing was found, then at least Snape could probably make something of the blood.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle knocked on Ginny's door, which caused muffled gasps and quite a bit of commotion to occur behind it. "Who is it?" asked Ginny finally.

"I am Gabrielle," answered Gabrielle. They should have a secret knock to use, just for the coven. And, perhaps, a secret signal to use when help is needed. The door opened, and Ginny pulled her in.

"Did you have any trouble? What took you so long?" asked Hermione.

"Fred was in ze kitchen, and..." started Gabrielle.

"Did he get his kiss?" teased Ginny. She's got that annoying smirk again, thought Gabrielle.

"Non. Eh, do I look different?" asked Gabrielle smiling her best smile. She waved her hand at them.

"Er... no. The hand thing makes you look a bit mad," answered Ginny.

"Why are you asking?" queried Hermione. She pulled out the parchment she had been writing notes on, and bent over it.

"If I smile like zat and do zis," and Gabrielle waved her hand again, "zen Fred will do as I say."

Ginny looked doubtful. "Are you sure about that? Mum can make the twins do things, but it takes a lot of effort and can be very loud. I usually use blackmail."

Gabrielle practiced her hand waving a few more times, trying to judge what looked more royal. That was actually rather difficult, since the only royalty she had ever seen was the British monarch, and she only ever seemed to wave a greeting. "I will know in ze morning."

"Don't be too quick to judge, Ginny. She is part-Veela, and they are boys," reminded Hermione. "Although, the twins were never much overwhelmed by Fleur. Unlike Ron." Hermione frowned at that.

Ginny thought about that for a time, then declared, "I don't like it." This was ignored by the others, so she repeated it. Gabrielle pulled out some of the candles, but left the package in the sack on her bed.

"Don't like what?" asked Hermione. "Ooh, can I get the red candles Beebee?"

"I thought it was Effy now," said Ginny. "And I don't like that the Weasley boys can be unnaturally - er... that is, meek." Gabrielle could see in the corner of her eye Hermione shaking her head.

"I am going back to Gabrielle, please," said Gabrielle with narrowed eyes. "And what do you mean by zat?"

"I think we should all take a step back," said Hermione hurriedly. "Beebee, er, Gabrielle, Ginny is just concerned that the Veela heritage will let you take advantage of her brothers. And Ginny, you have to admit that Gabrielle is, in many ways, not Fleur.

"What did you make Fred do?" demanded Ginny. She waved off the start of Hermione's intervention.

Gabrielle crossed her arms over her chest. "I asked Fred to get ze candles for me. I asked him to bring George to breakfast." If she held sway over the twins, then Ginny would just have to deal with it.

"You asked him to get the candles? He did, and that's the proof that he will do as you say?" asked Ginny breaking into a grin. "You're really something, Effy."

Gabrielle tried to decipher the meaning behind that comment, and her coven sisters started to divvy up the candles. The episode was forgotten when Ginny pulled out the package the gnomes had delivered.

"What's this?" asked Ginny, holding the box to her ear and shaking it.

"Zat is for me," declared Gabrielle. She had decided not to open it in front of the others, but had not managed to hide it.

"This is from George, right? Open it up," said Ginny. Gabrielle did not bother pretending not to know how Ginny knew that.

"No. It is for me, only," said Gabrielle. She made a grab for the package, but Ginny was too quick, and Gabrielle lost her balance and slid off the bed.

"Beebee, sorry, Gabrielle, there is no such thing as, uh, 'for me only' between a girl your age and a - man - George's age," explained Hermione. "The age difference would mean less if you were my age, but a lot of people would still take an interest."

"George would never hurt me," declared Gabrielle. I knew, thought Gabrielle, that Hermione would make trouble. It wasn't like George was anything more than nice to her.

"Isn't that what Fleur says about Bill? And you don't believe that," Hermione pointed out. That was completely different, thought Gabrielle.

"I'll open it then, shall I?" asked Ginny, pulling up one side of the brown paper wrapping.

"No. It is for me," whined Gabrielle. She tried to seize the box from Ginny, who fended her off with one arm. It must be the quidditch, thought Gabrielle. Her arms are like iron.

"Let her open it, Ginny," ordered Hermione. "We'll just watch."

Ginny tossed the box over to Gabrielle. Gabrielle caught it awkwardly between her chest and good hand. It was clumsy holding the package down with her bandaged hand to remove the wrappings, but Gabrielle was not going to let Ginny or Hermione get a hold of it again. Under the wrapping was a green box with an orange lid. Gabrielle lifted the lid and, despite her trying to shield it, three heads bent over and peered in.

"He sent you fish?" asked Ginny wrinkling her nose.

"What are you on about? That's coffee," said Hermione.

Gabrielle smelled coffee also. There was a spicy, earthy aroma that brought to her mind a green jungle washed by rain. She breathed the scent in a few times - she couldn't wait until tomorrow morning so she could brew some. Perhaps she would make enough for two cups, in case George wanted some too. They would sit with each other in the dawn's light, Gabrielle daydreamed. He would tell her the latest news of the shop, and together they would come up with wonderful new things to sell.

If there was enough, of course. This was the smallest bag of coffee she had ever seen, a sample perhaps. She reached in with her fingers and started to pull it out. It felt heavy. The surprise was when the bag emerged from the box. It grew as she pulled it free, becoming a normal two kilo bag of coffee that was three times the size of the box.

"That's a handy trick," said Hermione.

"There's something else in there," noted Ginny. She made to reach for it, but Gabrielle pulled the box back. Ginny, thought Gabrielle smugly, will have to get her own present from Harry.

Gabrielle's reaching fingers found the thin metal ring. She pulled forth a little brass wire cage. In it was a small, fuzzy red ball. Gabrielle cupped the cage in her hand, and the red ball rolled to the warmth of her skin and peeped quietly.

"Oh mon dieu!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "It is so cute! What is it?" She poked a finger through the wires and stroked the quivering creature. A thin pink tongue snaked out and licked her.

"It's a pygmy puffskein," replied Ginny. "Fred and George bred them; I was always afraid of asking how. I had one once. Until someone's cat made a snack of it."

"(I shall call you Pepi!)" burbled Gabrielle. "(You can live in my handbag so I can take you everywhere.)"

"I have apologized for that already, Ginny. And Crookshanks understands now that those are pets and not food." sighed Hermione.

"(Monique will just die when she sees you, Pepi. You are much cooler than that enchanted plush unicorn she has,)" murmured Gabrielle. The puffskein was now out of the cage and rocking about her palm.

"Did I mention Crookshanks? I was just warning her," said Ginny. "In general."

"There's still more in here," announced Hermione while looking into the box. She had decided to ignore Ginny's baiting. Gabrielle made a small corral for Pepi out of George's old quidditch shirt and took the box back. She reached in and drew out a length of gauzy material. It felt similar to Harry's cloak, but was completely black. Gabrielle pulled the fabric free of the box. The box vanished in a puff of smoke.

Hermione looked horrified. "Oh no! I wanted a good look at that box!" she moaned. "That was really complex spatial magic."

Gabrielle flapped out the folds and spread the fabric out on the bed. A folded parchment tumbled to the floor where Ginny snatched it up. The material was formed into a kind of bodysuit, with thigh length legs and short sleeves. Gabrielle fingered the material in curiosity.

"It is a prototype PrettyWitches Shield Undergarment. The material wasn't quite right, it says," read Ginny. "This recommends wearing it if you leave the Burrow. It is signed George."

"Your brother sent her lingerie," said Hermione flatly.

"Come off it, Hermione. This is lingerie like pants with the days of the week are lingerie," retorted Ginny. "You're thinking like Lavender!

"Er... I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry," Ginny hurriedly added after Hermione stiffened and glared.

"Eh, what is zis? Can you read more slowly?" asked Gabrielle. Hermione explained it in French instead. Gabrielle thought Hermione's translation was done more to avoid talking to Ginny than to provide clarity. Gabrielle also thought, once more, that Maman and Papa could not have realized that people worried so much in Britain about being cursed.

"Go on then, Effy. Put it on for us," called Ginny. "Let's see what it looks like."

v - v - v - v - v

He crouched behind the counter in the small pantry off the room where the wizards would be meeting, and made himself inconspicuous. As a house-elf, it was an innate ability. Not that it was hard in any case - wizards only noticed house-elves when they needed something done or something to kick. Which was a Bad Thought, thought the house-elf. Faffy should not be thinking Bad Thoughts.

Faffy sat watching the wizard he had been ordered to serve. He had to watch as this wizard, the one most feared, the darkest one, had not deigned to learn his name. He would be summoned with a curt gesture. His proper master was imprisoned. That memory made him happy, and was another Bad Thought. Faffy remembered when he had been selected to serve the master of the house after the master had given Dobby clothes. Faffy had known Dobby, and had been saddened to learn that Dobby had been dishonored and would rot away miserably, unneeded. The master was harsh to Faffy, but Faffy did not want to share Dobby's fate. Then Faffy had learned that Dobby had been freed by Harry Potter, and was at Hogwarts where, except for the summers, there was as much work as a house-elf could do. There was even talk that Dobby was paid to work; that Dobby was able to secretly buy students things they ran short of. The whole idea made Faffy's brain tingle, which meant it would be considered a Bad Thought.

Faffy had served the master of the house for three years before the master was taken to prison. Life was better for Faffy after that, but, Faffy thought, enjoying life more was not a Bad Thought. He had later overheard the mistress of the house complain that it was Harry Potter that had caused the master of the house to be captured, and that gave Faffy more Bad Thoughts. Thoughts like Harry Potter would bring him to Hogwarts too. Faffy worried about becoming a bad elf until he asked old Benty what to do about all the wrong-sized holes on the cauldron rack that would not fit the peg Faffy had. Benty, who tended the gardens on the grounds of the estate, asked how Faffy knew it wasn't the peg that was wrong. "If all the holes are wrong, it may be that none of them are wrong at all," explained Benty. Faffy had thought that quite clever, and applied it to himself.

But now, Benty was dead - gutted and dressed like the deer taken in the fall. The wizard Faffy was to serve, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord, had done it. None of the house-elves knew why it had been done. The mistress of the house was upset at the loss, but asked nothing of and said nothing to the Dark Lord. And bad thoughts were once more Bad Thoughts.

Faffy watched the Dark Lord. He sat with his wand upraised, eyes closed and completely still, except for his lips. These addressed some unseen person named Idiot or, perhaps, Fool. His new master had been doing this quite a bit as of late. It was like the new master was somewhere else. Or insane, which was a Bad Thought.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle lay on her bed, petting Pepi the pygmy puffskein. She still wore the black bodysuit. The material was very thin and quite sheer, but Gabrielle did not see why that was troubling since it was supposed to go under clothes. The bodysuit did not fit very well though. It hung loosely everywhere. Either George was expecting her to grow soon, or was not very good at estimating sizes. Or, thought Gabrielle with a thrill, George thought she was older than she actually was.

Hermione had left a while ago. Ginny had just left. Gabrielle had meant to try and convince her that sneaking around under the cloak without clothes was pointlessly reckless, but had been distracted by Pepi's long tongue tickling her nose. It probably would not have mattered, thought Gabrielle. Ginny seemed to like Harry's reaction, no matter how pathetic she said it was.

v - v - v - v - v

Faffy watched his new master berate the unseen person for a full hour before before the master shook himself out of that state with a look of satisfaction. It was a good time to approach him and check his needs.

"My lord," asked Faffy quietly. "Would you care for refreshments?"

"Leave me. I will call if need be." For as glad as the Dark Lord had looked, the words were abrupt and cold, thought Faffy. The house-elf retreated to his hiding spot to wait. Inactivity was hard for his kind. If this master would only call for him, thought Faffy, Faffy could be getting on with the ironing. Was that a Bad Thought?

Shortly thereafter, the Dark Lord grimaced and massaged his temples. Faffy recalled the headache remedy that had been delivered earlier this night, and how to concoct the traditional Malfoy tonic, and prepared for action. Surely Faffy would be needed. Again, however, his new master did not summon him.

There was a rapid, but quiet, knocking at the door. It was almost cheerful, and not the kind of knocking Faffy had heard lately when they were at Malfoy Manor.

"Come in, come in," called the Dark Lord effusively. This was a side of the new master Faffy had not seen before. He sounded like the mistress welcoming her friends to afternoon tea, though in reality it was close to midnight. Perhaps it was the unpleasant wizards who normally met with the master that made him seem so sinister. Except - he had butchered Benty.

In through the door came a young blond witch wearing tailored robes of a bright red. She led two wizards in. One of the wizards was extremely old, with wispy white hair and a plum-sized nose. The other was much younger but seemed worn down, with worry-lines starting to show by his eyes. He had red hair and horn-rimmed glasses. They were trying to hide their fear with such effort that they appeared to suffer from palsy. The young woman smiled at the Dark Lord and said earnestly, "My lord, your eleven-fifty-five is here."

"Welcome gentlemen. That will be all, Clarissa. Well done," said the new master. "Please be seated. I am Lord Voldemort." The two visiting wizards dropped into the plain chairs, relieving their unsteady legs of their burdens. "And you are?" prompted the Dark Lord.

"P-Percy Weasley, undersecretary to the Minister," said the red-haired wizard.

"Huhn... Mangus Perkins," said the old wizard with effort.

Faffy was summoned with a gesture. "Take the cloaks, and bring us some tea and biscuits. Oh, if there are any petite fours left, bring them also," ordered Lord Voldemort. "And gentlemen, please: wands on the table." Three wands were slowly placed on the table.

"At once, my lord," squeaked Faffy. He took the cloaks to the pantry, then quickly apparated to the kitchen at Malfoy Manor for the tea service. The master continued to surprise him. He normally had some cheese with his tea, if he ate anything. As everything had been made ready, it took only seconds. Faffy served the tea, trying to concentrate on proper service and not the mind-spinning fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, feared by so many wizards, was making small talk about the weather. "Can I do anything more?" asked the house-elf. Faffy received a dismissive flick of his master's long pale fingers in response and returned to his post.

"Now, let us begin. Is this a preliminary discussion, or do you have a firm proposal to discuss?" asked Lord Voldemort.

The one called Percy cleared his throat nervously, and began, "Er, the Minister has, you see, in fact, a proposal, but, uh... L-Lord V-V..., er..."

"It is Lord Voldemort," declared the master as the visitors quailed slightly. "If you can not manage that, Mr. Chairman will do."

"Ah, right. Mr. Chairman. You see... Mr. Chairman?" puzzled Percy.

"Yes. I am Chairman of the WASI party - a new political party. Recent events have made me regret my close association with the Death Eaters. I find the recent increase in violence by that group to be quite counter-productive to attaining my social aims," explained the Dark Lord. "So I have begun the Wizard Alliance for Social Isolation party, or W.A.S.I."

The two Ministry wizards stared at each other, mouths open. Faffy mentally recalled the location of the smelling salts in case he was sent to fetch them. His master's visitors looked dazed.

"Huhn... what does this Wazi party go in for?" wheezed the older wizard.

"We believe that there should be a greater segregation between muggles and wizards, allowing wizards freer and more natural use of magics. The short term goal is the expansion and creation of areas like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. The long term goal is to reverse the stigma, and confine muggles to proscribed areas," answered the Dark Lord smoothly. Faffy noticed his master rubbing his temple. He seemed to be shielding his left eye from the light. Faffy wanted, thought Faffy, to get the headache remedy before. If this was the mistress, Faffy would have gone ahead and added a bit to her tea. But this was the new master, and Faffy did not want to be disemboweled.

"I say! This changes things somewhat. The Minister would be really pleased with a political solution. Peace in our time, and all. Will you disband the Death Eaters?" asked Percy.

"I will admit to creating that dark organization and to being its leader once; actions for which I was essentially killed. But as I said, I and that group have diverged. The nadir was the ill-conceived Ministry raid. With the old guard currently imprisoned, the young turks now in charge are increasingly violent and out of control, and less capable of achieving my desired goal. I owe them gratitude for giving me this body, but I will not lead nor be a figurehead for them."

"Huhn... will you name names? Huhn... what about the Wizengamot?"

"Alas, my hands are magically tied when it comes to betrayal. But, uh... but..." The Dark Lord blinked rapidly, losing his place, and started again. "Magical bonds, yes. But surely you will have noticed the recent drops in attacks? The Death Eaters weaken as I draw their supporters to the... to the WASI." Faffy looked closely at his new master. Had there been something wrong with the biscuits? The Dark Lord was always very pale, but now that paleness was tinged with a bit of green. Faffy is going to be in trouble, thought the house-elf. He tried to see what the other two wizards had eaten.

"The public won't be happy without a trial," noted Percy. "The Minister can not offer immunity without evidence against others."

The Dark Lord winced and leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. "I... I am... proposing amnesty for all not accused of a crime. Excluding, of course, the crime of belonging to a forbidden organization."

"Amnesty!" blurted Percy sitting back in his seat. "You've killed hundreds."

"For which I have already paid the ultimate price of death. These hands have committed no such acts," replied Lord Voldemort, showing his pale hands. They trembled slightly. "This meeting is over. If you'll excuse me," mumbled the Dark Lord. He staggered getting to his feet and the two Ministry wizards scooted their chairs back in alarm. "I am..." said Lord Voldemort before vomiting. Faffy's eyes bulged and he swiftly reviewed the stomach treatments available at the manor house, along with the cleaning supplies. Should he wait to be summoned? The Dark Lord took a stumbling step toward the door, and collapsed to the ground with a groan.

The master's visitors jumped to their feet, then stood frozen as whatever plan their legs had did not make it to their brains. "Oh Merlin," breathed Percy. "What should we do?"

Perkins' face was flushed from the sudden exertion. He thought a moment, then rasped, "Huhn... let's finish the job."

"You - you can't just kill him! That's murder!" exclaimed Percy.

"Huhn... you're a silly sod. Huhn... my missus went to an early grave with worry over this bastard," growled Perkins. He picked up the Dark Lord's wand from the table and snapped it across his knee with great effort. Then he picked up his wand. "Huhn... now let's see."

Faffy sprang into action. That was the new master after all, even if the Bad Thought of getting a better master came unbidden. "Help!" he screamed shrilly. Then Faffy apparated back to Malfoy Manor, to the drawing room where the mistress sat with her sister. "The master is sick! In danger!" shouted Faffy. Faffy hoped they would be able to understand him and act, for he had to get back. He returned to the room with his stricken master, and leapt onto the arm of the older wizard just in time to knock aside the curse. He was shaken off and rolled to a stop beneath the leather chair. The liner on the bottom of the chair has come loose, Faffy noted, and the stuffing was starting to come out. It should be fixed.

The door burst open, and through it came not the pretty witch in the red robes but a wizard with a lumpy looking face who was very angry. The old wizard turned, and wands snapped up.

"Huhn... pro-"

"_Avada Kedavra_," barked the new arrival.

"_Stupefy!_" shouted Percy.

There was a flickering green light for a moment and a rushing sound. It was enough. Perkins dropped where he stood. The lumpy wizard slumped to the ground. Faffy crawled from beneath the chair and went to the Dark Lord. His master was still alive, and made hissing noises. Faffy wondered, was he poisoned? Faffy had not seen the wizards use their wands. He watched the red-haired wizard carefully.

"_Colloportus_," said Percy aiming his wand at the door. The wizard paced back and forth rapidly while Faffy stood before the fallen body of the Dark Lord. Did the mistress, Faffy fretted, understand?

Percy stopped suddenly and whirled around. Faffy watched him come near and put up a warning hand. This master was new to him - would Faffy's protection be strong enough? The wizard did not attack, but picked up the master's broken wand. Then he drew his own wand again. Faffy braced himself and put his hand up again, but the wand was not pointed at the unmoving Dark Lord. The wand was poked into the break in his master's wand.

"_Actinicium Flagrate_," cast Percy. A white, blinding flare of light erupted where the two wands touched. Percy dropped the Dark Lord's wand with a hiss of pain. Faffy could see the reddening blisters on Percy's hand. Faffy was no good with burns.

There were shouts now in the hallway. The door bowed and shuddered with a loud crashing noise. Faffy stood guard over his sick master while the wizard called Percy toppled the table onto its side. The mistress will be angry over the smashed china, thought Faffy. Faffy should have been given leave to clear the table when the wizards had finished their tea, which was dangerously close to a Bad Thought.

There was a sharp report from the hallway, and the wall next to the door exploded. The room was showered in bits of plaster, splinters, and dust. That included the master, to Faffy's horror. Amid shouts and flashes of red, purple, and green, Faffy disappeared with a pop. It took him no time at all to find the soot brush used after Floo travel.

Faffy popped back into the room. He could see that the Ministry wizard now lay still on the floor, and the antique table the wizard had hid behind was shattered and smouldering. He could also see the unpleasant wizards who crept around Malfoy Manor startle and turn. The last thing he could see was green light.


	13. Morning Light

Chapter Thirteen - Morning Light

There was an insistent knocking at the door. The resident of the house lifted his sallow face from his study, and quickly cleared the impromptu work table with a sweep of his wand. He mounted the stairs from the dank cellar, with its musty field-stone walls, and hurried to the door.

"Ah, Bella. What a... surprise," greeted the man. "Come to offer your congratulations on my being able to offer the Dark Lord my full-time devotions? Again?"

"Our lord has been injured, Severus. He's unconscious and we can't revive him," said Bellatrix. She was breathless and verging on hysteria. "You must come at once!"

"I suppose St. Mungo's is out of the question, but wouldn't a healer be more useful? Perhaps that Shastry fellow that offered his services? Oh wait, that's right, you killed him," sneered Severus Snape.

"He was a foul mudblood, probably a spy for the Ministry."

"You give those bumblers too much credit. We could use a healer with some actual skill, muggle-born or not," said Snape sourly, throwing on a cloak before selecting vials of potions from a trunk. "Diagnosis is the key to successful treatment."

"Severus, please. This is serious. If - if, what if my lord dies? What will we do?" asked Bellatrix shrilly. She is acting, thought Snape, like a first-year Hufflepuff after wrecking her first potion.

"At least our lord will not hear how you doubted him. Has he not said he can not die?" reprimanded Snape sharply. "Was Potter involved?" he asked suddenly.

"What? No. He fell while meeting a Ministry delegation."

"Indeed?" That was interesting news, thought the former professor. What was Scrimgeour playing at?

"Why did you ask about Potter?" asked Bellatrix suspiciously.

"Our lord has had, careful planning aside, remarkably poor luck in encounters with the Potter brat. Where are we going?"

"I'll take you there," said Bellatrix. The sheer number of vials Severus had packed away into his robes made her feel better. One of them should be able to stopper death, as he had bragged.

v - v - v - v - v

The black-cloaked Snape was led the short distance from where Bellatrix had apparated them to the lonely manor house. Snape did not recognize the house and the surrounding land. He did not know that the Dark Lord was meeting with the Ministry. All this going on without his inkling was disturbing, and made him uncomfortable.

Entering the strange house gave him a sense of the familiar. The décor of the room was very much in keeping with the Malfoy taste. Severus briefly wondered how Narcissa curried favor these days before pushing the repellent thought from his mind. Bellatrix showed him up the stairs to a small anteroom. A young witch sat on a small sofa, weeping.

"Who is that?" queried Snape, pointing a sharp-nailed finger at the crying blond.

"She says she is Clarissa Ewesly, secretary to the chairman of the WASI party. She's completely Confunded," replied Bellatrix. Bellatrix pushed her way into the room beyond through a gaping hole in the wall. The main room was probably meant to be a study or retreat for the landlord. Normally it would be richly appointed. All there was in the room at the moment was rubble, bodies, and Death Eaters. They were clustered over one of the bodies.

"He's here, Severus," said Bellatrix. "Hurry." She was now pulling him along by his sleeve.

"Enough, Bella. Calm yourself or leave," scolded Snape. He lit the end of his wand for light and bent over the Dark Lord. The eyes lit by the wand were a dullish red, and the pupils were of different sizes. The eyes did not track the light at all. What that added up to, Snape did not know. He presumed the sum would not be good.

The Dark Lord's breathing was rapid and shallow. There was no rattle on intake, but the breath came out as a hiss. The sort of hiss he had first heard years before. "Has anyone gone for Nagini?" asked Snape, turning to the others looking over his shoulders. A room full of blank stares was certainly familiar to him. "He keeps a snake. He talks to snakes. He may even be part snake. None among you knows what a snake sounds like?" Silence met the question, and he wished he could take house points from these unthinking dunderheads. They seemed to be capable of little without guidance.

"Get. The. Snake." barked Snape. He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out one of the vials. A general strengthening elixir, thought Snape, should not do any harm. It was unlikely to help as well.

"Alecto, go," ordered Bellatrix. "Now!" she screeched when the witch did not move. Snape would have preferred Bellatrix to go - the others were at least composed. There was always the possibility that Nagini would bite, also. He lifted the Dark Lord's limp form slightly and helped their incapacitated lord swallow. If nothing else happened, at least the hissing was louder.

"Tell me what happened," commanded the potions master. His gaze bore into the eyes above the lop-sided leer of Amycus.

"I hears a shout for help, comes through the door, and sees the geezer standing over the lord with his wand. So I kills him," explained Amycus.

"Then his associate takes you out," added Snape, "leaving our lord unprotected. Brilliant strategy." Snape did not recognize the ancient wizard, but there was no mistaking the younger one, not with that hair. It was Percy Weasley, Hogwarts Head Boy a few years back and one of the few of the Weasley horde he could stand.

He reached down and picked up the broken yew wand. Snapping a wand was an embarrassment and dishonor, but it could be fixed if the core was not badly damaged. Of course, that would entail tracking down Ollivander. Merlin knows where the Dark Lord sent him. The Ministry stooges should have just killed the Dark Lord, thought Snape, instead of wasting time on such a useless act. As he brought the snapped wand up close for careful examination, though, Snape could smell the smoke and see the charring. The core was burnt out; the wand was ruined. The Dark Lord will be most displeased, thought Snape - murderously displeased. He noticed the reddened skin and the line of blisters on Weasley's hand. "Ten points to Gryffindor," muttered the former professor.

"What?" asked Bellatrix.

"Nothing. What happened after that?"

"I was visiting with Cissy, and the house-elf pops in shouting that my lord is sick and in danger. I fetched Alecto and we got here as quickly as we could. The door was sealed so we came through the wall. The blood-traitor paid for what he did," explained Bellatrix proudly.

"Unfortunately, we don't seem to know what he did. As a consequence, we can't undo his actions. The house-elf said he was sick. Was it this house-elf?" asked Snape.

"Uh... yes."

"Why, please, is this house-elf dead?"

"It sort of surprised us and we - "

"And you killed it. The elf said the Dark Lord was sick. Was he poisoned? Was he cursed? Is it a medical condition? All the witnesses are dead!" thundered Snape. "We will need to capture a healer from St. Mungo's and hope that he is no hero."

"Where are your skills, potions master?" sneered Bellatrix.

"The potions are not the difficulty. Determining which is required is. I told you diagnosis was important. I am not a healer," shot back Snape. "Where are their wands?"

Perkins' wand was found beneath him. He had clutched it as he fell, landing on top of it. The oak wand had splintered at the tip, exposing the hairs that made up the core. Snape sighed in frustration and rubbed his forehead.

Percy's wand was under the wreckage of the table. Using the Prior Incantato, they noted the stunners, the door-sealing spell, and the fire spell presumably used on the wand before reaching the memorandum charms typical of the Ministry. While a hair-thickening charm drew a smirk from the potions master, he also noticed that not a single shield spell had been used. Still, nothing explained the Dark Lord's condition. These dead men could tell no tales, as the saying goes. Snape pocketed Percy's wand.

Alecto returned a short time later levitating a box containing the stunned Nagini behind her. It showed that some planning and thinking had taken place, so Snape was momentarily shocked. He ordered the box tipped onto its side, and revived the animal from behind it before retreating to the anteroom. The Death Eaters peered into the room from the edges of the ragged hole in the wall. Nagini's coils poured from the box, and she wound and unwound in agitation.

"Maybe we should have fed her first," suggested Bellatrix.

"She could always eat the house-elf," muttered Snape. Nagini had acclimated enough to notice the Dark Lord, and slithered across to him. She draped her coils over his fallen form as if to warm him.

Suddenly there was a much louder hiss, which exploded from the Dark Lord. Nagini jerked back reflexively, then snapped forward again. Her thick body straightened itself violently like a whip before going completely lax. The great snake slid off of the Dark Lord, spasms wracking its body.

Snape drew his wand and entered warily. Few survived Nagini's bites - fewer still who refused to be sewn shut in the muggle fashion. The snake reared and hissed, glaring at Snape with red eyes that seemed lit from within. Nagini turned and struck at the Dark Lord's limp body.

"Stop her!" screamed Bellatrix. She shoved her way into the room, taking aim at the snake.

"No!" cried Snape grabbing her arm. "No," he repeated more calmly. "It is the Dark Lord. I believe he is indicating that he is finished with that body." Snape, giving the snake a wide berth, stepped around to the other side of the body. He pulled out the vial from the earlier elixir and the silver dagger that he had started carrying since Frenrir joined the ranks.

"What are you doing Severus?"

"Some of Potter's blood still runs in his veins. It was important before; it might be again," replied Snape. He slit the jugular vein and watched the blood flow into the vial. Also, he thought, if I am wrong about the snake then this will hasten the end. If he dies by my hand a Ministry deal may be possible. The snake, whether Nagini or the embodiment of the Dark Lord, curled itself up in the box and went quiet.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle waded through puddles of blood, shouting for her Maman or Papa. Warm and runny, she knew it was her blood. She pushed open the door to her bedroom and stepped into the hallway behind the kitchen. Here the blood was ankle-deep and getting sticky. She called again for her parents. She could see them; they couldn't seem to see her. The hospital orderly who would give her a sweet each night passed by pushing her trolley. It left a bow wave in the deepening blood. The friendly witch pushing it did not even look at Gabrielle. Gabrielle saw Fleur and Maman sitting at the dining room table and cried out to them while trying to fight the current of blood, dark and congealing, pushing her away. Her Papa splashed right past her as she struggled, without a glance. She reached out to him but her hand was gone, blood pouring from the end of her arm. Gabrielle made to clamp the end of her arm with her other hand, but that was a bleeding stump as well. She held her arms up to see them, and found she had no arms at all. The blood in the hallway outside Papa's Ministry office was up to her waist now. Gabrielle needed someone to see her. She cried, "Papa!"

And woke herself up with a start. She was tangled in the sheets and flailed at them until she was fully awake and could realize that she must have been sleeping on her hands, as they were numb. Gabrielle sat up and gritted her teeth through the prickling sensation as the feeling in her hands came back. She hated that nightmare, mostly because it was stupid. Blood wasn't scary. It was magical. Without it, for instance, you were dead. Also, the rooms and hallways were all mixed up. Gabrielle felt that if something was to be frightening then it should be more real. She wished she knew why she was having so many nightmares lately, though.

There was only a little light outside. It must be before dawn, thought Gabrielle. She felt chilled and a little jumpy, so she tried to pull on the old quidditch shirt over her nightgown. The bandages prevented her. Hopefully Madame Pomfrey will arrive early to take them off. She couldn't ask Hermione for help dressing every time.

The quidditch shirt made her think of Ginny. Ginny was not on her bed, nor were pieces of Ginny. That didn't mean too much, since Ginny might just be completely under Harry's cloak this time. Gabrielle padded across the laundry strewn floor to check.

Ginny was not there. Gabrielle ran her hands over the entire top of the bed. Oh no, thought Gabrielle. How could Ginny be so stupid? Gabrielle debated with herself on whether to hide, look for Ginny, or get Hermione. Hiding didn't seem to work too well lately. Getting Hermione to help Ginny was the best idea since Hermione could use magic to assist the effort. But Fleur was in with her, and Fleur could make things worse for Gabrielle very easily. Gabrielle wondered if you could have a coven with just two witches - Ginny was a pain in the neck sometimes.

Gabrielle's toes were already cold, but her shoes would make noise and socks would not give her the traction to escape. She eased the door open and checked the hallway. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley's room was right down the hall. They were both early risers, but how early? Their door was still shut. Gabrielle decided to check the rooms downstairs first. Perhaps Ginny had fallen asleep while getting a snack, thought Gabrielle. She started down the stairs quietly, and wondered if they had always been so creaky. Gabrielle reached the second floor landing and changed her mind. Her feet felt like they were going numb. She retraced her way back up the stairs to her room. Fleur should have mentioned this ridiculous weather, Gabrielle thought grumpily. She had brought only lightweight socks, so she found Ginny's sock drawer and borrowed a pair of wool socks. Her feet were already warmer with them, she noted, and, really, what was the likelihood of someone chasing her?

Going back downstairs, Gabrielle stopped halfway down the last flight. She looked out over the banister quietly, in case any of the Second Corps were sneaking around. There must still be some waffles leftover, thought Gabrielle, to give to the little gnomes to take a letter to George. She saw no red caps moving about, however.

There was no one in the sitting room, invisible or otherwise, and no one in the entry hall. She pushed open the door to the kitchen and was surprised by Mrs. Weasley in a housecoat.

"My you're up early again, dear. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am looking for Ginny," said Gabrielle before she could stop herself. It is too early, thought Gabrielle.

"Ginny? She's never out of bed this early," said Mrs. Weasley thoughtfully. She was sitting at the table making a long list on a roll of parchment. "That's very strange." The matron put down the quill.

"Eh... ha ha! I, eh, forgot to look zere. I am silly," lied Gabrielle. She smacked her forehead and smiled before turning quickly to leave the kitchen. That was so lame, thought Gabrielle. She was kidding herself thinking that Ginny might have been in the kitchen. Ginny would of course be in the worst spot possible, and Gabrielle knew she would have to get her out before Mrs. Weasley became suspicious.

Gabrielle ran up the stairs as silently as she could manage between the creaks and pops of the stairs and the collision with the small table on the landing between the second and third floors, when her feet slid from under her. Her movement was not as stealthy as she would have liked. That was a dumb place to put a table anyway, thought Gabrielle. At least nothing was broken.

Gabrielle slid to a halt in front of Harry's door, and rapped on the door quietly. "Ginny! Are you zere Ginny?" hissed Gabrielle. She rattled the door handle, which was locked, and put her ear to the door to listen. There weren't any sounds of stirring from inside. Gabrielle looked down the hall towards Bill's door, and pounded the door a couple of times. "Hello? Wake up!" she whispered loudly, thumping the door a couple of times more before stopping to listen. Gabrielle thought she could hear something.

"Why do you think Ginny is in there?"

"Aah!" shrieked Gabrielle. She spun around, back pressed to the door and arms out as if to hide it, to face Mrs. Weasley. "I - I - eh... I do not. Eh," stammered Gabrielle. " I - Harry can use magic to find Ginny!" That was pretty good, thought Gabrielle, and not really a lie. Mrs. Weasley did not look convinced. There was a high-pitched groan.

"Oh, pardon-moi. I am really hungry zis morning," said Gabrielle nervously. She rubbed her stomach and smiled. That was pretty good too, thought Gabrielle. "What is for breakfast?" asked Gabrielle more loudly.

Mrs. Weasley ignored her and tried to open the door. "Harry, dear, open the door please. Why is it locked?"

"Will zere be waffles? Or eggs and bacon? I am really hungry today. Perhaps ze kip-pairs? What is a kip-pair, please?" babbled Gabrielle. She was hoping to cover the scuffling noises.

Mrs. Weasley shifted Gabrielle aside and knocked loudly on the door, "Open the door Harry."

"I'm almost done dressing," replied Harry. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Open the door now, or I'll do it myself," growled Mrs. Weasley. It occurred to Gabrielle that this might not be the best place to stand if Mrs. Weasley lost her temper.

"Eh, can I help start breakfast?" asked Gabrielle as a distraction. "I can make waffles." With a long fork, she added to herself.

"_Alohomora_," called out Mrs. Weasley. The locked clicked open, and the door slammed aside. Gabrielle cringed at what she might see, but Harry was alone. He wore only trousers. There was no tattoo at all on his chest, Gabrielle noted. And quidditch was definitely something all boys should play.

"Mrs. Weasley! A little privacy please!" said Harry indignantly.

Mrs. Weasley scanned the room strewn with clothes. It was sloppier than the last time Gabrielle had seen it, although the bed was now pushed way to the side. "Well," said Mrs. Weasley uncertainly.

"_Accio_ shirts," said Harry with a wave of his wand. All the shirts in the room flew toward him, and he snatched one out of the air letting the rest fall. If that is the way he dresses, thought Gabrielle, no wonder his room is such a mess.

"That's a fine idea," said Mrs. Weasley. That surprised Gabrielle. She would have thought Mrs. Weasley would be appalled at the state of the room. Her Maman would be and, when she thought of it, so was she. "_Accio_ cloaks!" called Mrs. Weasley.

Two cloaks flew to Mrs. Weasley, and there was a sharp gasp from the suddenly revealed Ginny and a quiet expletive from Harry. Ginny was still very naked, and stood in the corner covering herself with her arms. Ginny recovered quickly and, though blushing over large parts of her body, was brazenly glaring at her mother. Harry was also very pink and looked like he was trying to hide behind himself. His eyes kept straying to Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was red in the face and swelling with a deep intake of air. The time to leave was a minute ago, realized Gabrielle. She turned and strode away just short of a run.

Gabrielle was only halfway to the stairs when Mrs. Weasley's anger exploded. The outrage was such that Gabrielle actually stumbled as the shockwave swept past her. She headed down the stairs with Mrs. Weasley's angry words ringing in her ears, "How could you?! I've treated you as my own son and this is how I'm repaid. And you! You've been raised better than this, acting like a, a trollop! In my own house too. How could you?"

Gabrielle could still hear Mrs. Weasley thundering when she came sliding to a stop in front of the bedroom shared by Fleur and Hermione. Now that she was here though, Gabrielle thought, what was she hoping to do? After all, Fleur did not know about the spells and what they were doing. Gabrielle would need a reason to get Hermione alone to explain. Assuming, of course, Hermione was not like Ginny and had made it back to her room before falling asleep.

The door in front of Gabrielle opened and a very displeased Fleur stuck her head out. "(What is that racket? I shall look like a wreck on my wedding day,)" complained Fleur to no one in particular. Fleur looked up then in surprise to see Gabrielle there. "(Oh, Gabrielle. What have you done now?)"

"(I did nothing!)" snapped Gabrielle. "(Is Hermione up yet?)"

"(I wish she was - she is snoring like Uncle Alois did after the wine festival,)" replied Fleur. "(I would even take you over her if this continues. Mrs. Weasley likes you - tell her it is too early for this noise.)" Fleur closed the door. Mrs. Weasley likes me, thought Gabrielle, because I am not an overgrown fairy who is rude all the time. I wonder, added her second thoughts, if she will like me when Ginny tells Mrs. Weasley I gave her the spells.

Gabrielle went back downstairs. Then, remembering that wandering around in her nightgown was not proper, she started back upstairs. Gabrielle was halfway to the third floor landing when she realized that she would need help to fit her bandaged hand through her housecoat or clothes. Hermione helped her last night, but she was asleep and Fleur was cranky and Mrs. Weasley was still shouting at Ginny and Harry, albeit more hoarsely. Gabrielle turned around again and went back down the stairs to the entry hall. Perhaps Tonks could help, thought Gabrielle. She was often here in the morning.

Tonks was downstairs, in the kitchen, cleaning up a spill. Even better, Madame Pomfrey was sitting next to her, using her wand to dry her lap.

"Madame Pomfrey!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "Eh, bon matin. Hello Tonks."

"Ah, Miss Delacour," greeted Madame Pomfrey. "Shall we see about that hand?"

"What's all the ruckus about, then?" asked Tonks.

"Are these food stains? This was supposed to protect your hand - not provide you an attached plate," muttered the medi-witch. She ran her wand along the wadded gauze slicing through it cleanly. Gabrielle's hand was pink and wrinkled, but the blister and scales were gone.

"Zere was a problem wizz a fork," explained Gabrielle. "I can use ze hand now?"

"Yes, in a bit. You should let the new skin dry before doing much with it. No more curses from you, either," lectured Madame Pomfrey.

"Curses? Who were you cursing Effy? Or are you up to Gigi now?" said Tonks before laughing at her own joke.

"I am going back to Gabrielle, please," announced Gabrielle.

"That's nice," said Madame Pomfrey. "Is there more tea?" She pushed the teapot over to Gabrielle. Gabrielle just stared at it, confused. "The tea, dear," repeated Madame Pomfrey.

"Eh, yes," mumbled Gabrielle. She picked up the teapot and went into the kitchen proper. Tonks had used Mrs. Weasley's new kettle. Gabrielle pulled out the old one, and filled it with water. She set it down to heat. Then she snatched up the new kettle suddenly, in case it still had some steam, and filled it also.

"(You are not a proper witch. Nothing for you!)" proclaimed the embossed metal face.

"(Mrs. Weasley is very upset. You will boil water for her tea when she comes and whistle a song that she likes to calm her down,)" ordered Gabrielle. "(I will use the old kettle for the tea now.)"

"(Did you tell her about the eggs fitting in? Only, I noticed that she still fries them.)"

"(It did not come up,)" replied Gabrielle absently. She supposed she could start the breakfast for Mrs. Weasley.

"(Porridge makes a hearty breakfast. I am sure I could cook her porridge, and an egg.)"

"(If you are full of porridge, what will boil the water for her tea? A common pot?)" Gabrielle knew how to make a waffle batter, and started looking for the ingredients.

"(A common pot? A common pot boiling water for the kitchen goddess? Never!)" cried the metal face. Steam curled from its spout as it heated in agitation. "(Oh my spout! I see now where my blind ambition would have led: the goddess abandoned by her faithful kettle, scrounging for boiling water from whatever container she can find. No!)" rattled the kettle. It began to whistle. Gabrielle spooned tea leaves into the rinsed teapot. "(No, I will give up those foolish dreams. I was made to boil water. I will boil faster and make my boiling water more bubbly! The goddess will never lack the finest in boiling - hey!)" Gabrielle picked up the insane kettle mid-rant and tipped into the teapot. She jumped back when she put it down as it tried to hit her with steam.

"(Calm down!)" argued Gabrielle. "(You were supposed to boil for Mrs. Weasley. You need fresh water. You can not boil water twice.)" Gabrielle took the old kettle off the heat and emptied it.

"(You are stupid. Water can boil many times. I am expert in that, you know,)" informed the angry metal face on the side of the kettle.

"(Water for tea can not be boiled more than once. Ginny said that,)" explained Gabrielle. "(Now be quiet and let me refill you so you are ready for Mrs. Weasley. And, no complaints when she gets here.)"

"(I did not boil for you,)" announced the kettle petulantly.

"(Perhaps, but the tea is ready. Thank you for the water,)" replied Gabrielle smugly.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle had poured the tea for Madame Pomfrey and Tonks. Then she served them the first of the waffles with clotted cream and preserves. Mr. Shacklebolt had shown up, and Gabrielle was instructed by Madame Pomfrey to fetch him some breakfast as well. Apparently, thought Gabrielle, Madame Pomfrey believed that any person of school-age was her servant. Gabrielle had to make up another batch of waffle batter. The waffle-maker was cooperating, but she used one of the meat forks to remove the cakes when they were done just in case. The little device seemed to be practicing making shapes, and each set of waffles came out different. It needed the practice, thought Gabrielle, as all she could really see was that the waffles were not round. While the waffles cooked, Gabrielle searched for and started some bacon frying.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle kept her ear to the gap by the hinges. She did not want to go out to the eating area unless she had to. Tonks was still wondering about the shouting from before, and Madam Pomfrey had many needs - supposed she asked for kip-pairs? There were more people at the table wanting breakfast by the sound of it. Gabrielle dreaded having to try and feed Ron. Hopefully Mrs. Weasley would be here soon.

The first batch of eggs Gabrielle cooked were badly over-done and poked fun at, but were eaten anyway by the crowd. They were at least appreciative of her increasingly frantic efforts, if not of the quantity they received. Gabrielle recognized some of them as having been at dinner the night before. Did they not, thought Gabrielle, have homes? The waffles were becoming something with wings. She could not tell if it was supposed to be a butterfly, an owl, or a fairy, but she praised the little machine's prowess out of politeness. Gabrielle was able to keep the teapot full by blocking the kettle's view and pretending to greet Mrs. Weasley. The kettle would boil almost instantly, then mutter to itself as Gabrielle used the water and refilled it. The ploy had worked three times so far. Gabrielle was on the fourth batch of waffle batter, the third pan of bacon, and the second batch of fried eggs when disaster struck.

It started when she took a break from looking for something that guy Boozy or whatever from dinner called 'golden syrup.' Gabrielle asked if he meant honey. "Oh no, I can't stand honey. It's bee spit, you know," he replied. "Golden syrup is the thing. I can't eat waffles or pancakes without it" That was too bad for him, thought Gabrielle. She had not found anything gold-looking that was also a syrup. Gabrielle rested against the kitchen door hoping to hear Mrs. Weasley coming and with her a chance to escape. Instead, Gabrielle heard the twins bickering.

"What has gotten your knickers into such an intrusive bunch, Fred?" asked George heatedly. "The Second Corps wasn't in need of review - they weren't even up. The sun is barely up! You want to be at the shop now?"

"Time is galleons, brother. We've got a backlog of projects. A quick bit of breakfast and we should be able to bang out a couple," replied Fred.

"Bugger that," declared George. "You know I went out with Matty last night. I don't know what you're playing at there, but I think I'll be getting my own back soon. She had to have dinner at this fou-fou French place, Maison de la Maison de la whatever. Ten galleons in pounds sterling for less than a pound of food! I'm starving and I'm going to have a proper breakfast." I shall have to find the sausages, thought Gabrielle.

"We could always grab an early lunch at the chip shop," suggested Fred. Fred is trying to cheat, Gabrielle realized. He has brought George to breakfast early hoping I would not be there.

"There's a good idea - leave the shop when it's actually supposed to be open," said George. "What do you have going? I'm not leaving so you might as well tell me."

"(The bacon is burning.)"

"It's your immortal soul..."

"Oh bloody hell," groaned George in exasperation.

"You get like Ron when that little succubus is on you," accused Fred.

"I do not, and she's not a succubus. She's just a sweet kid," said George. "Anyway, you can't tell me you wouldn't chat her up if she was older."

"(The bacon is burning.)"

"What about the the other morning then? When she attached herself like a lamprey?" asked Fred. Fred should get burned bacon, thought Gabrielle.

"I was surprised, is all. And that kiss, it was -" Whatever George thought of the kiss was lost to the shrill whistle of the kettle.

"(Shut up you stupid...)" began Gabrielle as she turned angrily to the kettle. "(Oh no!)" The anger was forgotten when she saw the dark smoke roiling from the pan of bacon. She quickly jerked the pan from the flame, which slopped the hot grease onto the fire. Yellow flame that spit and spattered filled the pan and covered part of the stove. "(Oh no! Oh no!)" wailed Gabrielle as she hopped from one foot to the other in panic. It came to her that the burning oil needed a powder to smother it, and she raced to where she had prepared the waffle batter. Gabrielle gathered up the bin and tossed the first big handful of flour at the burning pan. It hit the flames and erupted into a fireball that rolled up the wall to the cabinets above, setting them on fire. Gabrielle stood dumbfounded for a second. "(Fire! Help me! Fire!)" screamed Gabrielle as she watched Mrs. Weasley's precious kitchen burn.

Help arrived in the form of George and Fred. With a whirling flurry of waving wands and incantations they very quickly had the fire out. It all looked... well practiced. Gabrielle looked at the charred and soot-covered wreckage in shock and horror, her hands digging into her cheeks.

"What happened here?" Gabrielle spun around to face a stunned Mrs. Weasley, who surveyed the mess with red-rimmed eyes.

"(I am so sorry!)" wailed Gabrielle. "(I just came down to have Tonks help me dress but Madame Pomfrey was here and she took my bandages off and then she wanted tea. I made the tea and some waffles and then Mr. Shacklebolt came and Madame Pomfrey said to get him some breakfast too. Then more people came and they wanted waffles and eggs also and the one man wanted golden syrup but I could not find it and the bacon caught fire. I tried to put it out but it exploded and I am so sorry!)" She burst into tears and Mrs. Weasley pulled Gabrielle to her. Gabrielle tried to compose herself, but she knew she was partly the cause of the other upset this morning for Mrs. Weasley as well, which made Gabrielle feel just awful looking into Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

"(My mother does not speak French.)"

"Eh, I am s-sorry, very much," sobbed Gabrielle. "Ze bacon, eh..." Gabrielle stopped, suddenly confused.

"(It is okay, Gabrielle. See. It is new.)" Gabrielle pulled away from Mrs. Weasley to face the speaker. It was George. He and Fred were waving their arms to indicate the cleaned and repaired stove, wall, and cabinets. Gabrielle was only vaguely aware of the others at the door to the kitchen proper as she launched herself, still crying, at the twins. She hugged George and then Fred, thanking them over and over for putting out the fire. She ended up back with George, crying more from the sudden relief than anything else. If George wanted to hold her and stroke her hair and whisper reassurances, then that was fine with her.

"Ahem!" interjected Fred. "We should be getting going." Gabrielle, out of tears, started to laugh into George's rib cage. She let go of George and went over to Fred, who took a step back.

"Bend down. Please," said Gabrielle quietly while waving her right hand. It definitely felt more regal than her left hand.

"What?" asked Fred bending down to hear better. Gabrielle seized his ears and planted a brief kiss on both of his cheeks before he could jerk back like he was stung.

"Zank you for all ze help, Fred. You are very kind," said Gabrielle. She turned back to George and smiled when she saw him already bending down.

"No reason to get all soppy about it, Deedee," said Fred wiping his cheeks with his shoulders. Gabrielle gave George a kiss on each cheek also. They were not as brief as Fred's, and not as long as she wanted since George was gently pushing her back down.

"Zank you for, eh, everything, George. You are sweet also, eh, that is, very much," said Gabrielle. George's ears were only a little red. Gabrielle herself blushed far more when Tonks whistled at them.

"S'all right, luv. We've had a lot of experience with putting out fires. It's the main hazard to Whizbang work," grinned George. He tweaked her nose. It was the kind of thing her father did and, standing there in her nightgown and the fuzzy socks from Ginny, Gabrielle felt like she was all of nine years old. It was not what she wanted to feel.

"Hey, we saved your bacon," said Fred suddenly. "We ought to get something for that."

"No, ze bacon was burned," reminded Gabrielle pointing to the now empty pan. "Zee eggs are not good now eezair."

"Does this mean breakfast is over?" asked a wizard from beyond the door.

"Right. Not that bacon. I was referring to your metaphorical bacon," explained Fred.

"I'll take over from here, dear, shall I?" suggested Mrs. Weasley. She was already putting the kitchen in motion.

Gabrielle stared at Fred blankly. "Eh... Oh. I zink I see. My bacon is like ze auror's ham and eggs?" There was a bark of laughter from Tonks and Fred.

"Oy, I hope not!" laughed George. "I mean, er, that's close enough for now." George's ears were quite pink as Gabrielle stared at him wondering what that meant. Coffee, thought Gabrielle. I could really use some coffee. "Fred wants a reward for helping you," continued George.

"You want more of ze kissing?" asked Gabrielle to Fred. He had not seemed to like it.

"I was thinking more along the lines of free labor," explained Fred. "Have any special talents? Quick with numbers? Good with a mop?"

"I can open any lock," blurted Gabrielle. Then, realizing the number people who might have heard that, added, "Eh, zat is not right, eh, I meant I can, eh, clean any lock."

"That was bloody awful," whispered George bending close to her ear.

"I was doing better, eh, before," replied Gabrielle. She really wanted to turn her head and kiss him again. Then he would see her as something more, and kiss her back. There would be the one perfect moment, before she had to go back to France and school, that would bond their hearts forever.

Gabrielle snapped out of her daydream just as she was imagining her wedding dress when she heard her name. Fred was looking at her expectantly. "Eh, yes?"

"No," said George. He was standing close behind her almost protectively.

"We know there's nothing deadly on it. It's just locked," asserted Fred.

"Just locked? Just locked?" demanded George incredulously.

"All right, there's some nasty, painful hexes too. But, in essence, broadly speaking, big picture, it's just locked," said Fred.

Gabrielle watched as the two brothers eyeballed each other without speaking. The lift of eyebrows, the set of the jaws, the glint in the eyes were not anything Gabrielle could really follow, but she could tell Fred lost this time.

"Well, then, what?" asked Fred with a bit of a whine. Perhaps he does not lose often, thought Gabrielle.

"Why not just the thanks you got? It wasn't on purpose. And she'll be family soon," complained George. He is protecting me like I am a child, thought Gabrielle. That was not what she wanted him to do. She would never come down in her nightgown again. She wanted him to see her as more than just a sweet kid. Gabrielle knew whatever Fred wanted would, most likely, end in disaster for her. Hadn't even making breakfast done so? But she would rather be the confident young woman who lost than the timid little girl who didn't play.

"I do not get to anzzer?" asked Gabrielle. She folded her arms across her chest and tried to look affronted.

"Fred is being a prat. He's asking too much," said George curtly with a glare for his brother.

"Oh contreer, as you've taken to saying. Deedee said she can open any lock. It's a test of her skills," smirked Fred.

"What is locked?" asked Gabrielle. "And I am going back to Gabrielle, please."

"An abandoned ingredient cabinet at Hogwarts. It was forbidden to students, really anyone. There might be something good in it," replied Fred.

"Zat is all?" asked Gabrielle in a tone she hoped would be both confident and suspicious.

"What Fred is not saying, is that it was abandoned by the evil sodding bastard of a Death Eater who murdered Albus Dumbledore," replied George though he was glaring at Fred still.

"I can try. I want to try," insisted Gabrielle.

"That's the spirit," cheered Fred.

"Look luv, the fire was nothing. Happens all the time in the workshop. Snape is an evil, greasy git who hated students. Fred's asking too much," reasoned George.

"I'll up the stakes then. A sickle for every object that Deedee can get out."

Gabrielle turned on George and smiled her best. "I will unlock ze cabinet, if you are zere to save me," she said softly.

George looked trapped for a moment, then put a smirk on his face. "Sure, all right, but only if," he said triumphantly, "you can get Mum's permission to go."


	14. Mysteries Demystified

Chapter Fourteen - Mysteries Demystified

Gabrielle watched the twins walk away with a mixture of annoyance and determination in her head. She would fail Fred's challenge, she knew. Fred probably didn't even care about actually opening the cabinet. He was more interested in her trying so he could see an entertaining failure; a spectacle. George's challenge, on the other hand, she wanted - no, needed to beat. That would make him think, Gabrielle thought. That would make him see. She needed to find a way to ask without having to lie, though. Well, without having to lie very much, perhaps.

Gabrielle looked to see what Mrs. Weasley was doing. She was fussing with the waffle-maker. The kettle making faces distracted her, and she went over to it. "(What is wrong with you?)"

"(The water in me has already boiled! I can not boil it again for her tea. You said that,)" whispered the kettle desperately. "(Give me fresh water! Please!)"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "(Let me get the teapot.)" Gabrielle went into the eating area. Since she was not carrying food this time the people at the table quickly lost interest in her. George and Fred were joking around with Tonks and the other, Gabrielle supposed, aurors. There was an empty seat between them though, which made her feel happy. She picked up the teapot, which felt empty, and was a bit peeved at the thought that no one else had made an effort to get more. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, they were all like Madame Pomfrey, just assuming that... The thought trailed off in her head as an idea filled her mind: Madame Pomfrey. Madame Pomfrey had no qualms in giving her tasks, and she would be at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley might let her go if she believed there was a connection. Gabrielle went over to the healer, who was fumbling in her carrying bag. "Is zere anyzing I can do for you, Madame Pomfrey?" Gabrielle asked.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. See if you can pry Ron Weasley out of bed," said Madame Pomfrey looking up from her search. "I want to check those wounds of his." She went back to rummaging as if Gabrielle was already gone. That was all right with Gabrielle though.

Back in the kitchen, Gabrielle prepared the teapot. She emptied and refilled the kettle, which thanked her profusely. "(Boil, quickly,)" commanded Gabrielle. The kettle came to a boil and had just started to whistle when Gabrielle poured it into the teapot.

"(You are like a spoon! Why did you do that? I have not sung for the goddess. You said I should do that,)" complained the kettle bitterly.

"(Hush. You can not sing long when the teapot needs all your water. I will fill you back up part way, so you can whistle until more tea is needed,)" explained Gabrielle. She wondered about the comment about the spoon. Was it supposed to be rude?

"(I do not like you,)" announced the metal face after, Gabrielle noted, it had water in it again.

"(You are the kettle. Go, whistle for you goddess,)" said Gabrielle dismissively.

v - v - v - v - v

Narcissa Malfoy rolled the small trolley inexpertly through the door. On it was the tea and toast intended for breakfast. Severus Snape looked up as the trolley bumped its way past the chairs. Narcissa smiled apologetically. "You must excuse the inconvenience; the house-elves are dead. I simply don't know where I shall find more."

"And thank you, then, for the hospitality during this difficult time," said Snape. He went back to perusing the few scrolls that held what little clues they had to the Dark Lord's plans. One was a provisioning list for a travelling party. A listing for muggle trans-oceanic flights caught his eye. Another scroll was a series of names and acronyms, most crossed out. The Wizard Alliance for Social Isolation was circled, among others. The last scroll looked like a list of the guests expected to attend the Weasley wedding. Almost half of the foreign names were marked. The scraps provided little insight into what was happening.

"Yes, yes. It's a smashing tea party. Now what are we to do?" growled Bellatrix. She did not look like she had slept much.

"I don't suppose there are any sausages?" asked the werewolf Greyback from the chair he slouched in. Snape felt for his silver dagger.

"I'm sure there are some. Of course I have no idea where they would be. It has been years since I've been down to the kitchens," replied Madame Malfoy. A look of annoyance crossed her face as she searched for something to spread on the toast. That was followed by a brief look of horror before a mask of an apologetic smile slid into place. "If you'll excuse me a moment," she said through the locked smile. "I'll just be right back."

"See if you can find some meat. Cooked or raw - either way is fine," called Frenrir Greyback after her.

"What are we going to do?" asked Bellatrix again.

"Do? We can do nothing. Nothing until the Dark Lord has regained human form," replied Snape in irritation. "Has the snake roused?"

"But what of the master's plans? We must carry them out," Bellatrix declared.

"What of his plans? Do you know where Ollivander is? Wherever he went took hundreds of galleons to reach. That young witch last night might have seemed Confunded, but that was also a plot of the Dark Lord's. Why was he meeting a direct representative of the Minister?" asked Snape. "We are not capable of keeping these plans moving. Has the snake roused?"

"At least we can still deal a blow to the blood-traitors and muggle-lovers!" crowed Bellatrix. She took a vicious bite of her dry toast to emphasize her point.

"Thinking was never your strong suit, Bella. The attack on the wedding is off. We can not risk losing our numbers now," answered Snape. "How is the snake?" he bellowed.

"Still sleeping!" snapped Bellatrix. "I can see it breathe. Now why call off the attack? Have you lost faith in the master?"

"I want to go through with the feast, er, attack as well," added Frenrir with a snarl.

"Tell me then, fools, can you bring down the protective wards? The anti-apparation wards?" challenged Snape.

"I think I can," said Bellatrix. It was not a declaration.

"Half the Ministry might be there, and most of the aurors. Bill Weasley is a curse-breaker for Gringotts. The wards are likely to be arcane. Delay in bringing down those wards would leave us completely exposed or trapped. No, the key to the attack was the Dark Lord's power and knowledge," argued the former professor.

"That's right, you're very good at doing nothing for my lord," accused Bellatrix. "Thinking of changing sides again?"

"Your ability for reasoning is on par with any third-year! Do you not recall the events earlier this year? And I ask you: do you wish to be in Azkaban once again when our lord needs you most?" demanded the potions master. Silence fell. Bellatrix picked at her toast. Snape glared at his, and drummed his fingers in irritation.

"Uh, maybe I'll check the garden for gnomes. Not bad eating on them," muttered the werewolf Frenrir. He did not get up though.

"So what are we to do?" asked Bellatrix again quietly.

"First, we keep the snake alive. It is weak right now. It must be stronger if the Dark Lord is to leave it," said Snape. "A foray to Diagon Alley for snake tonic is necessary. Second -"

"Knockturn Alley would be easier to get to," interrupted Bellatrix.

"Agreed. But in this case the goal is not a larger or more vicious snake, but a healthier one. I do not trust the formulations from the shops on Knockturn Alley," continued Snape. "Second, we will need to find a wizard weak-minded enough for our lord to possess while in this state. An embarrassment of riches on that score, I expect."

"What do you mean?" asked Bellatrix, earning a sneer from Snape.

"Finally, we will need to prepare another body to receive the Dark Lord. Wormtail would add some value at last. If he can be found - I have not seen him for nearly a month."

"My lord sent him on an errand on the continent," supplied Bellatrix.

Narcissa returned, her hands full. "I have the butter, and some jam. Pardon the delay," apologized Narcissa. "I never knew the butter was stored in water."

"Thank you, Narcissa," acknowledged Snape. "Wormtail was alone? That's surprising or, perhaps, horrifying. One can only assume the errand was trivial in nature. Do we know where he may be?"

"No," said Bellatrix in a resigned tone. "No I don't."

"The house-elf serving the lord mentioned a town called Hellaxhi as a destination for the two owls the lord requested," informed Narcissa. She sighed, "I wish Lucius was here. He was ever so good at this plotting."

"Perhaps if Lucius was here the Dark Lord would have confided his plans to him, and we could move forward. And certainly if Lucius was here, we might know the prophecy and why the Dark Lord insists on killing Potter personally," mused Snape. He snorted a laugh, "It is somewhat ironic that at the moment, the two most useful wizards might be the wretch Wormtail and the whelp Potter. Wormtail because of his familiarity with the ritual required, and Potter because he could communicate with the Dark Lord as he is now."

"I'm glad you can find amusement in this, Severus. My lord was planning to free my husband soon," said Narcissa in a brittle voice. "What will come of that plan now? When can Lucius come home?"

"Shall I fetch him?" asked Frenrir suddenly.

"Lucius? The dementors may be gone from Azkaban, but an assault on the prison would be very foolish at the moment,"opined Snape.

"No, I meant Potter. We can force him to talk to the snake for us. Then perhaps the wedding attack can go on," explained the werewolf.

"I seriously doubt you will find Potter in time for an attack. He has been hidden well. Still, it would be convenient to know where he is," said Snape thoughtfully. And, he thought, it would get you out of my presence. "Yes - try to find him. He was at Hogwarts recently, perhaps you can pick up his trail from there. But under no circumstances are you to bite or kill him," emphasized Snape. "That is the Dark Lord's order." Perhaps, thought Snape treacherously, Potter's run of luck will put the beast in Azkaban also, or worse. Especially with some warning.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle brought a cup of tea over to Mrs. Weasley. She could see that although Mrs. Weasley had many things going in the kitchen her mind was not really on her work. The sink had washed the same plate three times, and the eggs were not much better than Gabrielle's own first attempt. The kettle would be happy to know, thought Gabrielle, that Mrs. Weasley was humming to the tune it was whistling.

"Eh, Mrs. Weasley? Would you like some tea?" asked Gabrielle, holding out the mug.

"Hmm? Ah. Thank you, dear. That's sweet of you," replied Mrs. Weasley. With her thoughts interrupted, the matriarch went over to the stove and tsked over the state of the eggs before moving them to a platter. When she sat back down she handed a waffle to Gabrielle. "What do you make of this? Did you set it to do this?"

Gabrielle looked at the waffle. The wings were more symmetrical than before, but it still looked like a very fat butterfly or an owl with very large tail feathers. Or an angel. She looked at the waffle-maker. Its little signal lights seemed to be pointing down, and if an appliance could look bashful, it did. "I zink it is to be you," said Gabrielle to Mrs. Weasley. "I zink it is an angel. It is ze angel of ze kitchen, which is you. Ze machine did zis, wizzout help."

"Oh you little charmer, you," tittered Mrs. Weasley. She gave the waffle-maker a quick squeeze on its handles. The signal lights glowed very brightly and made the front of the machine much redder. This is nauseating, thought Gabrielle. Muggle appliances with buttons were more to her taste.

"Eh, I am helping Madame Pomfrey today," said Gabrielle. That was certainly true in the sense that this morning was today. She tried to smile as if she were proud of that fact.

"Oh? You're quite industrious this morning. Madame Pomfrey, breakfast - and you are whole and all the right colors as well," said Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle's smile fell a bit. That last part was not necessary.

"I have to go to Hogwarts," said Gabrielle. This was a non sequitur. That means it is not a lie either, thought Gabrielle.

Mrs. Weasley looked at her closely. "That's unexpected. I can't see how we can manage that. There's the tables to see to, the decorations, and your parents will be arriving tomorrow, and the house needs a good cleaning - "

"I zink Harry could take me, like Ron," interrupted Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley will probably want him far from Ginny.

Mrs. Weasley scowled and her eyes flashed, "That, that - boy - will not be going anywhere until Arthur gets home. The utter gall of him..."

"Eh, zen - zen, perhaps George could take me?"

"Awful keen on this, aren't you?" asked Mrs. Weasley suspiciously.

"I... have not been to Hogwarts since ze tournament." Another non sequitur. "And my hand..." added Gabrielle vaguely.

"The twins will be busy with their shop, dear."

"Zey would do it if you asked zem," encouraged Gabrielle.

"Well, I guess they do owe you something for all the pranks they've had you try..." said Mrs. Weasley uncertainly.

"I will get zem. I know zey will do as you say," said Gabrielle brightly. She took the platter of eggs and the rest of the tea into the eating area.

The arrival of food was greeted with cheers. Gabrielle would have to find out from Ginny why Mrs. Weasley allowed these people to take advantage of her hospitality. Even Maman did not have guests every day.

Gabrielle made her way over to George and Fred. "Your mozzer is in ze kitchen. She wants to ask you somezing," Gabrielle said smugly breaking into a grin. Neither twin moved. They just looked at her blankly. "Go to your mozzer. Now, please," ordered Gabrielle with an imperial wave of her hand. She wondered if it would work on George. Fred stood up.

"What's this about, luv?" asked George. He eyed Fred, who had started for the door, curiously.

"Your mozzer wants you to take me to Hogwarts," replied Gabrielle softly.

"Come on," said Fred. "This should be interesting."

"Might need to discuss your immortal soul later," muttered George getting to his feet. "I am not leaving until I get some food though. Honestly, you birds would let a bloke whither away."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle bounded up the stairs. If you did not count the problem with Ginny and the fire in the kitchen, Gabrielle thought, then the day was off to a good start. She would definitely change out of her nightgown though. She needed to project the correct image: the young woman, not the little girl in fuzzy socks.

There was a problem, though, when she reached Ginny's bedroom door. The door was covered in brightly glowing blue slashes, crisscrossing the entire width of the door. Gabrielle had never seen anything like it before. She reached out to touch the lines, then caught herself. Injuring her good hand again was the last thing she wanted to do. Using her left hand, she slowly reached for and touched the door handle. There was no concussion or shock, so she opened her eyes and tried to open the door. It did not budge the slightest bit. It may be, Gabrielle hoped, that the lines are just there to keep people out, people like Harry. She knocked on the door, then banged it with her hand. There was no sound from inside the room. She probably can't hear me over her snores, thought Gabrielle. I can't go to Hogwarts like this. "Ginny!" shouted Gabrielle. She kicked the door. It was not as loud as she hoped, because she was not wearing shoes, and it hurt, because she was not wearing shoes. I am tossing her from the coven, Gabrielle resolved, and stamped away.

On the fourth level Gabrielle could see that Harry's door had received the same treatment as Ginny's. Mrs. Weasley must have been really angry, thought Gabrielle.

Climbing the stairs to the fifth floor where Ron's room was, Gabrielle wondered why Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had made the Burrow so tall. There weren't many rooms on each level. Delacour Manor was quite a bit larger, but only had two floors and the attic. The Weasleys sounded like they had a good-sized estate around the house. She had not seen it herself since she was not allowed outside to explore. Surely the width of the house could be doubled, though. That would reduce the number of stairs one had to go up by half.

When Gabrielle reached Ron's bedroom, she found the door ajar. This was surprising because he usually slept later than Ginny. Gabrielle knocked on the door, pushed it open, and announced, "Ron, Madame Pomfrey would like to - eep!" Gabrielle pulled the door shut. She had noticed three things. One was that Ron's room was much neater than Harry's but smelled a bit. Another was that the orange on the walls glowed like coals in the morning sun. The last but not least thing Gabrielle had noticed was that Ron was still asleep, on top of his sheets, on his back, without clothes. Any clothes. She felt her face heat up in embarrassment, but then her second thoughts couldn't see why it was she who should be embarrassed. Gabrielle raised her hand to knock on the door to wake Ron. More second thoughts pointed out the educational opportunity. So, heart pounding, Gabrielle eased open the door for a short course of comparative anatomy and the demystification of the human form.

Gabrielle's nerves could only take about five minutes of study. Every bump and thump made her think Mrs. Weasley was about to reach the top of the stairs. It had only been the ghoul in the attic, but Gabrielle could imagine how it would look like peeking if it had been Mrs. Weasley. Anyway, Gabrielle thought, it wasn't like she had much to compare the anatomy to. A lengthy bout of scratching by Ron made clear the egg part in the ham-and-eggs. The ham part was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like a boudin blanc, thought Gabrielle.

Ron, except for scratching himself, had not stirred at all. If he was like Ginny, thought Gabrielle, it would be very hard to get him moving. Fortunately, the human form was not a mystery now for Gabrielle. She drew a deep breath, steeled herself, and pushed her way into the room.

Gabrielle first crossed the room to the window, which she opened fully since it did smell in the room. Gabrielle pointedly did not look at Ron - there was no need as she was not a silly, giggly girl unfamiliar with the human form. With fresh air coming in, Gabrielle went over to the slumbering Ron. She had to look at him as she approached the bed, of course, but noted with an air of maturity that she had not glanced at his midsection any more times than she had looked at his bandages. Gabrielle looked at his bandages again just to be sure.

"Ron. It is time to wake up," said Gabrielle. There was no response. She cleared her throat, as her voice had been a bit squeaky before, and prodded Ron's shoulder. "Ron! Wake up!"

"Uhnn... hmm... 'mione," mumbled Ron. He sleepily dropped his left arm on top of Gabrielle. It was unexpected and pinned her to his chest. Her arms flailed as he slobbered a kiss on her temple.

"(Let go you big dumb oaf!)" hissed Gabrielle. He has arms like an orangutang, thought Gabrielle, and he smells like one too. What does Hermione see in him?

Her flailing arms each found something. Her left arm found the table near the head of the bed, and the hand on it found something that was probably Ron's wand. Her right arm found more of Ron and the hand on it found something that was probably Ron's 'wand'. She knew she would be washing that hand very, very thoroughly. "(Let me go Ron!)"

Ron, still murmuring to his absent girlfriend, shifted on to his side and loosened his grip some. Gabrielle could at least pull away from his puckered lips. She could see that while Ron was, perhaps, finally rousing there was something else that was very definitely rousing. A very primal kind of fear crept out of her brainstem, and panic energized her struggles. "(Let go!)" she cried, and brought the wand down across his nose.

Ron jerked back and brought his hands to his face; Gabrielle fell back onto the floor. "What the hell!?" exclaimed Ron. His eyes found Gabrielle, "What the bloody hell do you want?" Ron stood up. "Go on, get outa here you tetchy midget." Gabrielle stared, and Ron followed her gaze. "Get out you little perv!" he bellowed while pulling the sheet from the bed to cover himself. Gabrielle snapped out of her shock and scrambled for the door. "And stay out!"

"Madame Pomfrey needs you," remembered Gabrielle from the hall. A pillow flew past her head and she ran for the stairs.

As Gabrielle escaped down the stairs, the moment of panic was replaced by giddiness. She had seen Ron, an actual boy, naked. He would tell on her later and Fleur would make sure she got in trouble, but right now remembering the look on Ron's face made her laugh. Gabrielle realized that she still held Ron's wand, the wrong way round, in her hand. Ron probably didn't even know that yet. She would give the wand to the twins - can't have anything bad happened to it, thought Gabrielle with a giggle.

In her flight, Gabrielle slid down the banisters. It was, she had decided, much safer than trying to run down the stairs in the sliding socks. It was also faster. So fast that when she reached the third floor landing she was only able to almost stop before colliding with Fleur. Fleur had been looking at the glowing lines on Ginny's door. Now she looked down on the heap Gabrielle ended up in.

"(You should be dressed. Put a housecoat on, at least,)" ordered Fleur. She eyed the wand in Gabrielle's hand. "(What trouble have you caused now?)" she demanded.

Gabrielle looked up into Fleur's scowl and giggled. I have set the kitchen on fire, I have fought off a naked Ron Weasley, and I'll be hexed later by a cabinet, thought Gabrielle. All of which she would not be telling Fleur. Ron was bellowing again. Gabrielle figured he had just noticed his wand missing.

Fleur's scowl deepened and her eyes narrowed,"(What -)"

"(One day your face will freeze like that!)" blurted Gabrielle. She could hear someone running down the stairs. She assumed it was Ron coming to kill her and she scrambled to her feet to flee.

Sliding down the banisters was faster than she could run, but it was not faster than Ron could go. There were crashing thuds as he gained on her, since he was only using every third stair. Ron was only one flight behind when Gabrielle reached the entry hall. He wore only trousers. She burst through the door to the kitchen, which stopped abruptly halfway opened. Howls erupted behind her.

"(Sorry!)" called Gabrielle. "Take zis!" she shouted as she tossed Ron's wand at George. Ron crashed through the door right behind her and in three steps had hold of her by the back of the nightgown. Gabrielle shrieked. Ron was attempting to lift her and shake her. The result was that he was unknowingly pulling the nightgown from her. She grabbed the sides of her sleepwear to keep it from rising more. "Stop!"

"Gotcha you snot-nosed little bi-" crowed Ron.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. I've been waiting on you," interrupted Madame Pomfrey. "Let Miss Delacour go so I can check your injuries."

"No," said Ron. He swung Gabrielle from side to side. "Stupid bint."

"Gide be de udder 'alf add let's see 'ow far she cad stretch," said Fred menacingly. His face was bloodied from the door.

"That's enough, little brother." George grabbed Ron's arm, and Ron released the nightgown. Gabrielle pulled it back down and smoothed it. "Go get a damp cloth and some ice for Fred, luv," ordered George. "And bring something for Ron to eat. He's cranky when he's hungry." Gabrielle was going to inform George that Ron deserved nothing from her but decided against it. First, she wasn't sure that was true since he had just been sleeping. Second, George had not really asked her to go but ordered her. It may be that he was getting tired of saving her.

Gabrielle retreated to the kitchen proper. Mrs. Weasley sat by the back door staring out the window. She wasn't happy - that was easy to see. Gabrielle thought she looked more than just sad and disappointed though. Betrayed, thought Gabrielle, that's what it is. There wasn't much that Gabrielle could do about that.

Gabrielle returned with a damp tea towel and ice. Fred glowered at her. Gabrielle thought that it didn't look much worse than what had happened to her in the sitting room. She dabbed at the blood on his face. His nose was not even bleeding now. "Eh, I did say sorry, before," apologized Gabrielle.

"The damage is not fully healed," pronounced Madame Pomfrey. "I did say resting was required. Not slipping from the ward to travel the length of Britain, not attacking first-years - resting. I am sure I mentioned it."

"I was resting - I was asleep! I was before, before, er, whatever name she goes by these days attacked me," growled Ron.

"I am still Gabrielle," said Gabrielle peevishly. She wrapped the ice in the towel and handed it to Fred. Fred still glared at her. "Oh stop ze complaints. It is not bad. You know what will happen later, also," she added quietly.

"Oy! Where's my breakfast?" complained Ron.

"If I could carry it in one hand you would not be happy," argued Gabrielle. She stood to go into the kitchen proper again.

"I coo' use a bit bore tea, Deedee," said Fred unhappily.

"Some toast for me luv," requested George.

The few remaining guests joined in. "I want more bacon." "More eggs over here, please." "Are there any kippers?" No wonder Ginny sleeps in, thought Gabrielle with a huff.

Gabrielle ferried whatever food was available to the table. It was like they were baby birds, thought Gabrielle, cheeping and begging for food with open mouths whenever a plate was brought out. When she had a house she would not stand for it. Gabrielle presented Ron with an over-full plate arranged like a big flower of eggs, rashers, and toast with a pickle in the center. Ron gave her a soft look. When Ron asked why the pickle was there, Gabrielle told him through gasping laughs that it reminded her of him. He turned pink and threw a piece of toast at her. Fred threw a chunk of sausage, and George flicked a bit of egg at Gabrielle. That seemed to be a signal for most of the others to join in. It further lowered Gabrielle's opinion of the guests, but it was all just stupid silliness until someone immobilized her. When she could not dodge the bits of waffle and, worse, the blobs of marmalade George was launching with a spoon, it was not so funny anymore.

Gabrielle could not move, but she could yell for Mrs. Weasley. The room cleared almost as fast as it would have had the wizards been allowed to apparate. The spell on Gabrielle was lifted though, and she went back into the kitchen proper. Mrs, Weasley still sat looking forlorn, with her roll of parchment out in front of her.

"Eh, Mrs. Weasley? I would like to get dressed, please," said Gabrielle.

"Yes, all right. I'm sure I can handle things from here," replied Mrs. Weasley. She went back to the list she was working on.

"Mrs. Weasley?"' started Gabrielle after a few moments. "Eh, ze door is spelled?"

"Oh. Er, yes, that's right. I'm terribly sorry, dear, I..." Mrs. Weasley looked at Gabrielle closer. "Is that marmalade in your hair?" Gabrielle reached up and combed her fingers through her hair without thinking. It spread the mess and made her hand sticky.

"It is nozzing. Zere was an accident. Eh, while cleaning up." Gabrielle smiled and waved her hand dismissively. She hoped Mrs. Weasley would not worry about it.

Mrs. Weasley did worry about it. She glared at the Weasley brothers as she cleaned up the floor. They were the only ones left at the table. Gabrielle noticed the marmalade sliding to a stop by Ron. Mrs. Weasley just saw it by Ron. "Ronald Weasley, have you been throwing marmalade at Gabrielle?" she asked in a dangerously calm voice.

"What, me? No. She nicked my wand anyway," complained Ron around a mouthful of food.

"It was not Pickle. Eh, I mean Ron," interjected Gabrielle. "I do not have his wand."

"Pickle?" asked Fred.

"Still a bit green and all warty. I think it's a good fit," considered George.

"Better than our pet name for him. At least in mixed company," noted Fred.

"Anyway, Pickle, Gabrielle doesn't have your wand," said George.

"Mum, I know she took it," pleaded Ron. "She hit me with it!"

"That's our Deedee," praised Fred proudly. "Sometimes I miss being able to roll out of bed and thump you, Pickle."

"Stop calling me that, you wanker," demanded Ron.

"Ron!" snapped Mrs. Weasley, emphasizing her displeasure with a slap.

"Your wand is safe Pickle," announced George. He slid a box over to Ron. Ron used his fork to flip the lid off while ducking beneath the table. He emerged again after a minute when there was no explosion. Tipping the contents of the box out also required a trip under the table. The box had held two dozen wands, all identical to Ron's, now spread over the table.

"Now you've gone and mixed them all up," laughed George. "And yours had been right on top."

"When I find it I'll be hexing the lot of you," declared Ron. He snatched up one of the scattered wands, which promptly exploded with a flash and loud bang. Ron emerged from the puff of smoke blackened with soot and red with fury.

v - v - v - v - v

Mrs. Weasley removed the glowing lines from Ginny's door one by one. She sighed quite a few times while doing this, and that made Gabrielle feel like she had to say something. "Eh... Ginny and Harry, it may not be what you zink," tried Gabrielle. That sounded stupid even to her ears, and Mrs. Weasley's look made clear what the house mother thought of the suggestion.

When the last line was removed, Mrs. Weasley turned away from the door and said sadly, "Tell Ginny she is to stay in her room. I'll bring a tray by later."

Gabrielle watched Mrs. Weasley walk stiffly away and felt sorry about what had happened again. Gabrielle also hoped Mrs. Weasley never found out where Ginny has gotten the spell from.

Gabrielle pushed open the door to the bedroom. Ginny was dressed this time, though she slept curled up clutching a pillow to her. The large white owl from Harry's room sat on the sill outside the window. Gabrielle noticed the small pieces on parchment near Ginny's head. Mrs. Weasley forgot the windows, thought Gabrielle. She let the owl in; it hopped onto the bed and over to Ginny's head. When Ginny didn't acknowledge the bird, it began tugging her hair using its beak.

After washing up and cleaning the sticky spread from her hair, Gabrielle turned her attention to getting dressed. What, she wondered, does one wear for getting hexed? It was a facetious thought until she realized that she did have something to wear: the black undergarment that George had sent. Gabrielle stripped off her night clothes and pulled it on. Gabrielle then took it back off, put her own underwear on, and added the black lingerie over it. It was, Gabrielle decided, just a bit too sheer to wear in public. Even if it was under her other clothes.

Gabrielle picked the denims to wear in case this would be dirty work. She also needed a 'G' as people were losing track of her name. The biggest 'G' was on the oversized jumper Ginny had brought down. She pulled it on. It hung down to her thighs and one shoulder had slipped through the neck. Gabrielle had seen muggle girls wear things like this as a dress with an added belt. Perhaps she would too. If, of course, the weather was better and if Maman was never to find out. For now, Gabrielle fetched a hair ribbon from her trunk and made a pleat on the back of the neck opening to tighten it a little.

Ginny finally woke as Gabrielle finished fixing her hair. Gabrielle wore her hair pulled back and had put the prank from George and Fred into locks framing her face. Only one color today, Gabrielle decided.

"All right, Hedwig, I'm awake now," yawned Ginny. She fumbled with the message on the owl's leg, getting nipped by the bird as it hopped trying to maintain balance. "I'm sorry. But you know, you could probably undo the message yourself with your beak," apologized Ginny.

"Eh, Ginny? Your mozzer says you are to stay in your room. She will bring ze tray up," reported Gabrielle. She smiled happily at the mirror as the hair turned the shimmering blue. She looked nothing like Fleur, which was good because she knew she didn't compare well. This, thought Gabrielle, is modern and cool. The big 'G' would make people remember her.

"I hope she hurries. I'm starving," moaned Ginny as she felt around her bed with her hands. The search turned up a quill, and Ginny began writing a note.

"Why did you not come back?" asked Gabrielle. "Your mozzer is upset, very much."

"I know Mum is upset. Merlin, do I know. Mum's the living howler. She doesn't exactly hold back," noted Ginny. "Something went wrong. One moment everything was fantastic and the next thing I can remember was you and Mum at the door. Is Hermione up?"

"I do not know. I did not see her at breakfast," answered Gabrielle. Ginny's stomach growled at the word. "What went wrong?"

"I don't know. Hermione would be a big help in figuring that out. Er, I don't suppose you can get her?"

Gabrielle looked at her self in the mirror again. She always liked the way she looked better if she knew Fleur wouldn't see. "Can you not use ze owl?"

"Yeah, all right," agreed Ginny. She tore another strip of parchment and wrote a short note. Then Ginny tied both notes to Hedwig's leg. "Please, Hedwig, go to Harry first, then find Hermione." The owl bobbed its head and launched itself across the room, flying through the open window.

"Harry is to stay in his room also, I zink," commented Gabrielle.

"Right now Harry's more worried that one or both of us will be turned out." Ginny yawned widely.

"Eh, what does zat mean?"

"Huh? I meant Harry is worried that Mum will send one of us away," explained Ginny.

There was a quiet pop next to the door, caused by the arrival of Dobby. He was holding a tray with tea and breakfast. "Harry Potter has sent Dobby to ask if his Miss Wheazy would like some breakfast," the little elf announced happily.

"That would be brilliant Dobby," enthused Ginny. Dobby set the tray on her bed, then flourished a bow to each of the witches. "I am starving," repeated Ginny. The tray held toast, jam, boiled eggs, and small whole fishes that were light brown in color.

"What is zat?" asked Gabrielle curiously, pointing to the fish.

"Those are kippers. They're a smoked fish. Ron loves them," answered Ginny around a mouthful of boiled egg.

Gabrielle was going to tell Ginny that Pickle loved anything on a plate when a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Hermione was at the door, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Ooh, breakfast in bed. That's posh," noted Hermione. "Good morning Beebee, Dobby." She sat on the bed. "Do you mind?" she asked Ginny while reaching for some toast.

"Gabrielle," reminded Gabrielle. She pointed to the jumper. "'G' is for Gabrielle."

"Er, yes. Sorry," said Hermione. "I don't suppose you could swap rooms could you? Your sister was a right hag this morning." Gabrielle shook her head vehemently no.

"Dobby could fetch a tray for you too, Miss," suggested Dobby.

"Oh, no need to trouble yourself Dobby," said Hermione.

"Harry Potter gave Dobby a sickle. Dobby would like more to do," complained the house-elf.

"Mrs. Weasley has very much work today," said Gabrielle.

"Hey yeah, Dobby. Just go down and stand around Mum, maybe gossip about the other elves. Mum won't stand idle hands for long. She'll give you chores. You don't have to leave if she tells you to since you're here for Harry. But, er, you might not want to mention Harry around Mum today," Ginny added sheepishly.

Dobby grinned at that, and bounced away to the door before disappearing with a pop.

The older girls ate in silence. It did not take long for the tray to be consumed. Hermione used her wand to peel the boiled eggs, which she and Ginny stuffed into their mouths whole. It was disgusting to Gabrielle and she wondered if it was a side-effect of the spells that made you eat like you had no manners.

Hermione drained the rest of the teapot into her mug, and sat back against the wall on the bed. "So what's so important that Hedwig tried to scalp me?" she asked.

"She was captured with Harry. She had no clothes," blurted Gabrielle.

"Oh no! Ginny! Where were your clothes?" explained Hermione.

"That's not important right now," said Ginny sharply. "Something seemed to go wrong, and I think something really awful happened."

"Well, start at the beginning," suggested Hermione.

While Ginny started to describe her meeting with Harry, Gabrielle gathered up the things she needed for her outing. She would take Pepi. His, or possibly her now that she thought about it, little cage fit neatly into her handbag if she didn't take too much else. Gabrielle would have to take the pouch with the specially bent wires. She found the mangled wires, still twisted together, that she had used on Harry's door. Seeing those again made her wince - they deserved better. Perhaps Hermione could repair them. Gabrielle considered making some of the coffee George had sent her, but decided not to risk giving Mrs. Weasley time to ask questions.

Ginny was starting to sound a little tongue-tied and was obviously talking around something, thought Gabrielle. Hermione noticed it too and was smirking. That made Ginny turn quite pink.

"Go on then, admit it," grinned Hermione.

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about," sniffed Ginny.

"You started shagging him, didn't you? That's why you wanted that spell from me. It wasn't 'just in case' - you planned it," accused Hermione.

"It wasn't like that at all! It was just, um... look, it, er - it - was getting in the way and I, uh, thought if - it - were sort of tucked away somewhere that it would be less, er, distracting?" said Ginny.

"That's a load of dragon dung, Ginny," judged Hermione. "So what happened after you two started shagging?"

Ginny glared at Hermione, but Gabrielle couldn't figure out why. Did Ginny really expect them to believe her? "After, after, er, things were squared away," started Ginny with another glare for Hermione. Gabrielle found that funny but kept it to a few snickers. Ginny glared at her too. She's going to hurt her eyes doing that, thought Gabrielle. "Anyway, Harry and I got the chant going again and -"

"Harry was chanting with you?" interrupted Hermione.

"Uh, I sort of kept losing my place," explained Ginny.

"You just told us it would be less distracting," reminded the bushy-haired witch with another smirk. That elicited more death glares from Ginny. She gave up on them when Hermione started to laugh and switched to swearing at her friend.

"Oh calm down, Ginny. Just go on with the story," ordered Hermione.

"The thing is, things felt different, er, after," said Ginny.

"I'll bet they felt different," laughed Hermione.

"Just shut up you bloody cow! Honestly, I thought you would be more help," shouted Ginny.

"Sorry. Sorry, Ginny. No more teasing," promised Hermione. No more entertainment, thought Gabrielle. Ginny, with her arms folded across her chest looked from Hermione to Gabrielle.

"I said nozzing," said Gabrielle defensively. It was not her fault that Ginny was so obvious.

"Anyway," continued Ginny. "The - spell - felt different. I could sort of feel the magic flowing differently. Instead of just going out like before, I would feel a surge of magic flowing in. We were in like a, a sort of chrysalis of blue light. It would flow in, then out. In and out. In and out. You know what I mean? Then it got stronger. In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out," Ginny continued repeating absently.

"Right. Got that part," blurted a reddened and slightly fevered-looking Hermione. Looking at Hermione and remembering Ron's half-awake actions, Gabrielle began to suspect that Ginny was not the only one who had been doing the 'shagging' as Hermione called it. If there were anymore references to tarts and France, Gabrielle would see to it that there was trouble. At least Fleur was about to be wed! If the 'shagging' was what was going on with her sister, of course.

"Yeah. The surges kept getting bigger, and everything felt fantastic!" said a blushing Ginny breathlessly. "I never felt like that before. I was seeing stars; I felt like lightning about to strike. And then..."

"What? What?" encouraged Hermione, who was now shifting restlessly where she sat.

"And then the lightning struck. I thought my head would explode and was losing control of my body. I remember kissing him, and then that was it," finished Ginny.

"What do you mean by 'that was it?'" asked Hermione. "Where's the problem?"

"I kissed Harry, and then the next thing I can recall is Effy at the door talking to Mum."

"Gabrielle, please. 'G' is for Gabrielle," piped Gabrielle.

"Well it sounds like you two might have physically exhausted yourselves," suggested Hermione with as straight a face as she could manage.

"No, it was his scar. I kissed Harry on his scar, and all the magic disappeared. Don't you get it?" asked Ginny. "What if the magic went to Voldemort? What if the spell made Voldemort more powerful?" demanded Ginny in rising panic. Gabrielle had not been expecting that and had to pick up the items she had knocked from the vanity when she startled. "Well?" asked Ginny when Hermione had not spoken.

"I'm thinking about it," said the older witch.

Gabrielle smiled and teased, "When you say - it, what do you mean?"

"It's not funny Effy! What if I just helped kill Harry? Voldemort has been trying to do that for years," shouted Ginny.

"Please Ginny, settle down. I don't think the rest of the house needs to hear this," soothed Hermione. "It's obvious what went wrong: Harry was doing the ritual too. Perhaps the magic was confused as to where it was supposed to go."

"He wasn't doing the ritual. He can't do the ritual," asserted Ginny.

"You said he was doing the chant with you. Harry was, er, starkers, I assume, and the blood sacrifice had been made. If he was anything like Ron, then his hands were all over you. Harry was doing the ritual also," replied Hermione. She had started blushing at the mention of Ron.

"Harry is not a girl, trust me on that. And it was my finger that was cut, not his," argued Ginny.

"The description never specifically mentions gender, and I'll bet that wasn't the only time you bled," replied Hermione.

Ginny looked confused by that before understanding lit her face. "Oh. You mean when Harry put his -"

"Yes. You made the blood sacrifice too," concluded Hermione.

"But how, er, why did it work the first time then?" wondered Ginny. Gabrielle only had Maman's abstract explanation to go on, but she was pretty sure what it was that the older witches were talking about. She noticed that Hermione had used the word 'too'. I knew it, thought Gabrielle, and frankly, with Ron: eeuw.

"That's the reason you don't see rituals used today when wand magic is available. Maybe the first one didn't work; maybe Harry thought it did and his own protective magic stopped the arrow. Or maybe your intent in performing the ritual made up for other elements. It's all so woolly! It's possible you inadvertently helped Voldemort. It's just as likely you delivered a bolt from the blue to strike him down. I would expect it's most likely you and Harry cancelled each other out," explained Hermione. "I'm not read up on magical ritual theory."

"So I can't try the spells again because I'm not a, er, I can't make the blood sacrifice?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"You can't try them again because your Mum will be keeping track of you like a crup on a jarvey," replied Hermione.

"There's ways around that. I grew up watching Fred and George get around the Burrow with and without magic. Is there a way to change the ritual?" asked Ginny.

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione had said she did not know about rituals, thought Gabrielle, but that did not stop her from talking. She started lecturing about symbols, something that sounded like abattoirs but that probably wasn't correct, and the theories of wizards and witches that Gabrielle had never heard of. Hermione also started using a lot more uncommon words, so that even if Gabrielle had wanted to follow the conversation she couldn't. Instead, Gabrielle gathered her things, slipped into her shoes, and announced she would be going.

There had been only the barest of acknowledgments from her coven sisters until Gabrielle said her destination was Hogwarts in response to Hermione's polite but perfunctory query. Ginny, who Gabrielle now suspected was completely unhinged, exploded in outrage at her mother, wizarding patriarchy, and both Voldemort and Harry. Hermione was annoyed at being denied another chance at the Hogwarts library, but immediately began drawing up a list of books and topics for Gabrielle to research. Gabrielle commiserated with Ginny, promised to do her best for Hermione, and put both of them out of her mind as she went to find George and Fred.


	15. Wand Finds the Witch

Chapter Fifteen - Wand Finds the Witch

Gabrielle came downstairs to the entry hall just in time to see Dobby dance past with a feather duster. He gave her a cheery wave, then went back to dusting absolutely everything, including the top edges of the doors which he reached by shimmying up the sides. Gabrielle did not see the point of that, since the only person she knew who could see up there was Madame Maxime. That thought gave her a moment's panic. What if Madame Maxime was invited to the wedding? What if Madame Maxime was invited and then found out about, well, about everything? Could she be expelled before the term?

Not that it would matter, thought Gabrielle. If Madame Maxime found things out, so would Maman. A second thought wondered if she were so worried, then why had she worked so hard to be able to go to Hogwarts and be hexed? Gabrielle felt it would be embarrassing to back out now after coming so far. The second thoughts pointed out that now was the perfect time to change her mind: before the disaster. All she had to do, Gabrielle realized, was to stay close to Mrs. Weasley who would work out what was going on before long. On the other hand, second thoughts added, George would be disappointed. And Fred. While Gabrielle ruminated on whether she was winning or losing the argument, a shadow fell across her.

"You." It was Ron. He was disgusting. Rivulets of sweat had left streaks through the soot, and there were large red welts on his arms and face. Ron looked very angry, and he held his wand.

Gabrielle instinctively tried her best smile. It was a Veela reaction. "Eh... you have found your wand... Eh, zat is good?" Gabrielle said nervously. This was bad. She couldn't outrun his long legs. With the door to the kitchen closed, her shouts would not be heard in time. "Eh, Hermione, eh, is looking for you," lied Gabrielle. She stepped back toward the sitting room.

"Is she? I'll find her right after I stuff you up the Floo. _Petrificus Totalis_," barked Ron. There was no time to dodge; they were too close. Gabrielle yelped as a jet of blue light hit her in the chest. Ron yelped as the magic sparked from Gabrielle back to him. His arms snapped to his sides and he froze before toppling over toward Gabrielle. He was too heavy for her to stop him from falling, but she tried to slow his collapse as much as possible while touching him as little as she could.

"(Are you all...) Eh, are you 'urt?" asked Gabrielle in shock. She looked to the kitchen door, expecting to see one of the twins. It took a moment to remember what she wore beneath the jumper. It took less time after that to realize why it had happened. "Hmph. You deserved zat, you smelly pig," sniffed Gabrielle. She bent down and worked his wand loose of his hand. Holding it properly this time, she could feel the ridges made by the dead skin still attached by the muggle glue. How gross, wondered Gabrielle, could one person be? The wand felt heavy and sluggish. Put it down now, advised her second thoughts.

Gabrielle did not put down the wand, but continued into the kitchen's eating area. It was a shock to see the overturned chairs and strewn plates. It was more of shock when she recognized the oozy masses with fringey tentacles as the twins. The Weasleys were expecting an attack and it has come, thought Gabrielle. She rushed to the nearest twin. It was Fred. "Are you alive?" Gabrielle asked. It was a dumb question as Fred had blinked at her when she turned his face toward her. He mouthed words at her, but no sound came out. Gabrielle knew this one. Fleur liked to use silencio when she thought Gabrielle was not understanding the perfect logic of her arguments. Gabrielle need to find someone with a... wand.

Gabrielle raised Ron's wand. She knew what to do as the spell had been cancelled on her many times. It was also not a curse. "_Finite Incantatum_," she said with a wave of the wand. Fred tried to speak again with no better result. "_Finite Incantatum. Finite Incantatum!_" Gabrielle tried the incantation louder and louder, with more pronounced wand movements. "_FINITE INCANTATUM!_ Oh! Eh, sorry, sorry," she apologized after accidentally jabbing Fred in the eye.

"Aah! You're a bleeding menace this morning," griped Fred. "Hey, how about that? Thanks Deedee."

"'G'," said Gabrielle emphasizing her syllables with pokes of the wand. "'G' is for Gabrielle."

"Gigi is for Gabrielle. I'll remember that," promised Fred. "Now give George a hand and find our wands. Please?"

Gabrielle lifted the spell on George. She hoped it was something about the wand that was causing her to have to shout and flail about wildly for something to happen. She would die of embarrassment at Beauxbatons if this was how she had to do magic. Then she broke into a big smile. She really was doing magic, real magic. Gabrielle knew she was a proper witch. Perhaps a very loud one, but a proper one anyway.

George was impressed by something else. "Is that Ron's wand?" he asked in astonishment.

"It will be mine, if he rude all ze day," replied Gabrielle. "What happened here? Did zey attack?"

"Pickle happened. He found his wand and started throwing hexes. We never had a problem slapping him down before. I guess in hanging around Harry and Moody something must have rubbed off. It was two against one and Pickle just flattened us," reported George in disbelief. Neither Weasley brother appeared able to move.

"I'm sure his swollen ego will slow him down next time," muttered Fred. "Oy, how 'bout the wands then? This is a bit embarrassing."

"I don't think we missed every single time. He's either a prodigy at non-verbal counters, or we are using gag wands," argued George.

"Ron and prodigy are not words you usually hear together," commented Fred. "There's something else going on."

Gabrielle had started searching the room for the wands. "Try an accio spell, luv," suggested George to Gabrielle.

"Eh, how do I do zat?" asked Gabrielle.

"Just strike a dramatic pose with the wand out, and say 'accio wands'," instructed George.

It was not that easy. Gabrielle went back to shouting, and her dramatic pose required a running start, but she was eventually rewarded with a clatter. It came from the other side of the sideboard. She leaped closer into a dramatic pose; she could see the wand twitch and jump a little. Gabrielle tried again and again, moving closer each time. The spell finally worked when she was bent over the wand. It jumped at her command, sailing up from the floor to hit her between the eyes. "(I did it!)" proclaimed Gabrielle to the snickering Weasley twins. She rubbed her forehead and watering eyes and did not care. She had done another spell.

It was Fred's wand she had found. She folded Fred's rubbery fingers around the wand. Within moments Fred was grunting and groaning as he struggled to sit upright. With a wink and a whispered incantation, another wand flew to Fred's hand. Very quickly both Weasley brothers were up and removing the pustules, tentacles, and other effects of hexes from themselves.

It was while the two brothers were cleaning and straightening up the eating area after the impromptu duel with Ron that Fred commented, "You did really well with those spells, Gabrielle. Trying to summon a wand is really difficult. The wand fights back. All it takes is a little practice, though. Try the accio spell on the butter."

There was a moment when Gabrielle realized that she had let her enthusiasm for trying to do magic get the better of her sense. There was a moment when she realized it was a prank. There was a moment when she regretted helping Fred as it would have been much easier to set him on fire if he was not able to move. That moment was the time between the dish of butter leaving the table to when it hit her full in the face. Gabrielle had been so intent on having the spell work again that she had forgotten her previous experience, and was loudly summoning an object that was less than an arm's length away from her. Raucous laughter filled her ears as she pulled the squishy mass from her face. Gabrielle burned with anger and humiliation. This, thought Gabrielle, is my thanks for helping them? I should have known something was wrong when he said my name. She would have revenge, and it would be terrible to behold. It would be a devastating vengeance, imagined Gabrielle. Nightmares would haunt them for years and -

"Hold still, luv." It was George. He had his wand at the ready and was still chuckling.

"Did you know?" asked Gabrielle in an icy voice. Whither, she thought, whither under my glare.

"_Scourgify._ I, uh, could see the comedic potential, yes," grinned George. "No real harm in it."

"Hmph, no harm," said Gabrielle in aggrieved tones. George did not appear to be whithering, or particularly remorseful. Fred was still rolling on the floor, laughing loudly.

"A prank pulled off with no planning and no set-up? A prank done with no more than a few words? Fred's practically a victim of circumstance! Neither he nor I could easily pass that up," explained George.

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. The part about Fred being a victim of something confused her. He will be my victim yet, thought Gabrielle. A cackling laugh would be appropriate, but a little much she thought.

"(The joke was very easy. Fred did not have of the control,)" tried George.

"Why are you learning French, George?"

v - v - v - v - v

Harry stood by the window, leaning against the sill. This is familiar, Harry thought glumly. At least he tried to be glum. He was locked up in his room, the defining characteristic of his summers since starting Hogwarts, and he was hungry, another important feature of the times between terms. But Harry also knew this wasn't anything like Privet drive. He still had his wand, and a scroll signed by the Minister himself saying he could use it. He still had his broom and a window without bars if he wanted to use it. Harry was hungry, but not the desperate, lick-anything kind of hunger his aunt and uncle had once subjected him to. It was more the just-one-more-plate kind of hunger that Ron had, and only because he had sent the last tray Dobby had brought to Ginny.

Ginny was the reason it was impossible to be glum. No matter how awful he felt about how upset and angry Mrs. Weasley was, or how much he dreaded the Weasley brothers' retribution, just thinking of Ginny made Harry happy. Last night was the best night of my life by far, thought Harry, and waking up next to Ginny was more magical than anything Hogwarts had to offer. Harry knew he had never felt so alive before. It was similar to the feeling he had when he had drunk the Felix Felicis. If he were banished from the Weasley household, the memory of last night would keep him going for a long time. Ginny would be of age next year, anyway, and then nothing would keep them apart.

Not even Voldemort. Just a glimpse of what life could be like was enough to rekindle Harry's determination. The centaurs and the death of Savage had been a setback, but the plans he had made with Ron now seemed more feasible than ever. He would have Hermione begin brewing the potion as soon as Hedwig returned. He would read through the traitor's notes for the secret to occlumency that he was sure was there. He would find a way to destroy Voldemort completely and then take Ginny to a quidditch match, or dinner, or maybe the muggle movie theater. Hermione, thought Harry, would be a help in planning that. He could ask her about ideas once Hedwig returned.

v - v - v - v - v

All journeys, remembered Gabrielle, begin with the first step. In this case the first step was to drag Fred away from Ron's still rigid form. After George released the ward that had kept Mrs. Weasley from noticing the internecine duel, Gabrielle realized that she should give Ron back his wand. The twins were very amused by the sight of Gabrielle standing over the fallen Ron with his wand. Ron was not so amused, and was quite rude before the silencio spell from George quieted him. Fred thought the only thing that would make the scene funnier was Ron bleeding from the ears. Gabrielle decided that Fred was a sore loser, and told him so. That cheered Ron up, amused George, and annoyed Fred. When Fred still tried to move around her to get at Ron, Gabrielle closed in on Fred and asked for his wands repeatedly with her best smile and a lot of hand-waving. After much nervous dithering and complaints that it was not his fault that Ron was so pathetic, Fred turned over not the two wands she expected, but three wands. George was stunned by this, and stared wide-eyed between Fred and Gabrielle. A red-faced Ron laughed soundlessly on the floor until Gabrielle smacked his nose with his own wand and announced, with a stamp of her foot, that the three of them would be leaving. Now.

They walked to the edge of the wards protecting the Burrow. Gabrielle could now see that there was plenty of space to make the odd little house much flatter. Fred demanded the return of his wands; Gabrielle argued that she should be allowed to keep one, just in case. The smallest one, which Fred had kept down his trouser leg, felt warm, like it was full of nervous excitement. It reminded her of the first time she held Pepi. It also reminded her of several punch-lines to jokes that Philippe thought were funny.

"You can't use it anyway," complained Fred.

"I can. I did ze spells in ze kitchen, and Ron's wand was, eh, not good," replied Gabrielle. Perhaps she could try the bluebell flames just to show him. It would be nice to be able to practice it a bit first, though, so they would not laugh.

"Fred's talking about the Ministry's age restriction. You'll get a nasty warning by owl from ol' Hopkirk," clarified George.

"Zat is not true. Zere was no owl because of ze kitchen," challenged Gabrielle. She practiced swishing the small wand around, and wondered what the core was. The wood was very light in color.

"Er, that's, that's because... Help me out, George," said Fred.

"It's because of the Fidelius charm on the Burrow, I'm sure of it. It'll be off the Ministry's detectors," explained George. "Once we leave the property they'll be able to tell."

"Really? And Ginny doesn't know! Ha!" chortled Fred. "Merlin, I hope she doesn't find out," added Fred after he calmed. "She's bloody quick with that wand."

Gabrielle really liked the feel of the little wand. She supposed it was small so that Fred could easily hide it, but his hands were much larger than hers, and the wand seemed just right when she held it. She waved it again. It was practically begging her to do something with it. Gabrielle waved the way she had practiced in front of the hearth, and incanted, "_Innoxus Flagrate._"

A small blue flame appeared on the end of the wand. Gabrielle looked at it proudly, then in horror. The little wand was on fire! She quickly flicked the wand, trying to put it out.

"Oy! Watch it there!" shouted Fred jumping away. He cursed as he realized the little bit of flame had landed on him anyway, and he beat out the fire on his leg. He scowled at Gabrielle. "Give me my wands before you kill someone!"

"Sorry! I am sorry!" exclaimed Gabrielle. Fred poked his finger through the hole in his trousers. George fell to the ground, red-faced and howling with laughter. Maybe, grimaced Gabrielle, I should give back the wands. Maybe two of them. "Can I not keep just zis one? I will not use it. Eh, again," wheedled Gabrielle.

"No. First, you're a menace. Second, what if we're attacked? Chuckles there won't be much help like that," said Fred peevishly indicating his gasping brother.

"Anozzer wand did not help wiz Pickle," noted Gabrielle. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, and Fred lunged at her. Gabrielle sprang to the side, but Fred was able to catch her shoulder. Gabrielle stumbled as she was spun around, and fell backward. She landed heavily on George's abdomen. His breath left him in a great whoosh and he went limp. "(George? Are you all right?)" asked Gabrielle. He did not look all right. In fact, thought Gabrielle, he was looking quite gray.

"Give me a wand, quick," ordered Fred. Gabrielle obeyed, and tossed the wand Fred normally used to him. Fred said an incantation Gabrielle didn't quite catch and tapped George's mid-section. There was another whoosh of air, going in, and George rolled into a sitting position.

"Bloosh - that hasn't happened for a while," groaned George.

"You are okay?" asked Gabrielle. When George nodded and massaged his solar plexus, Gabrielle turned to Fred. "You saved him," breathed Gabrielle. She started toward him.

"Enough with the slobbering this morning. It was just the kind of injury you'd expect from a bludger - you learn to fix that if you play quidditch. Now," said Fred raising his wand, "give me my other wands." Gabrielle was stung by the bludger comment. What did Fred mean? And anyway, Ron slobbered, not her.

"Okay," grunted George getting to feet. "That's enough from the both of you. Fred, let her keep the one wand - think of the entertainment value. Gabrielle, give Fred his other wand and put that little one away until we get to Hogwarts, at least."

"That was a custom job..." started Fred.

George gave him a scornful look, "That's a load. I know where you got that, and if you don't stop I'll let Mum know too." Fred went quiet in an unhappy way.

"Eh, I am sorry. For, eh, everyzing," apologized Gabrielle. George had had to save her again.

"Let's just go," smiled George.

v - v - v - v - v

The first stop of the day turned out to be Diagon Alley. This was a pleasant surprise for Gabrielle. It seemed a surprise to Fred as well, and he started to argue that this was the long way round and that time was galleons. George just said 'verity' and Fred shut up. Gabrielle thought at first that George had cast a spell on Fred, but Fred later asked if George was all right to do the first leg.

The three of them apparated to the an alleyway between two dark buildings. Gabrielle did Side-Along with George. The alleyway was landscaped with very tall trees in very small pots.

"Everyone all here?" asked George. He checked himself over and felt his face and hair. Gabrielle was somewhat alarmed by this and quickly did the same. She felt all there.

"Where is zis?" asked Gabrielle.

"It's just next to the Leaky Cauldron. One of the very few benefits to owning a business here is that you are let through the wards," explained George. He turned to Fred and, with a nod in the direction of the street, said "Verity."

"Um, yeah," said Fred a little uncertainly. "I might have given the impression we would be there pretty early... Er, you think...?"

"Don't go empty-handed," warned George. "We'll meet back here in an hour."

"I don't know why I'm the one..." muttered Fred as he wandered away into the street. Gabrielle watched him pause at a jewelry and talisman shop before he continued out of view.

"She'll get that necklace yet," chuckled George half to himself.

"Eh, who?"

"Verity. She's been pining after Fred for a year now. Gives him hell if he's not where he says he'll be. Bit of a worrier, there," said George.

"Fred does not know?" asked Gabrielle.

"Fred may be trying not to know," laughed George. "He always says she's not much to look at, and pays her no attention when she's in the shop."

"Zat is sad for Verity," said Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley was right: George is sweeter.

"The thing is, Fred almost can't function without Verity these days. She knows where everything is, what the plan Fred came up with was, and where the galleons were coming from," continued George. "He thinks I don't notice, but I'll eat a skrewt if he's had dinner out with any other witch in the last six months. Fred still chats up the birds in the pubs, but somehow Verity is always there in the end." George winked at Gabrielle, and then suddenly looked appalled, as if he had said more than he wanted to. "Er, that's all secret, of course. You can't tell Mum, and don't say anything to Fred either."

"Oh. Eh, of course, but why?" Gabrielle followed George out of the alley, stepping around the puddles in front of the shops that were left by the morning's cleaning.

"Mum's just getting over our leaving Hogwarts. She feels we should be doing some social-climbing, if you know what I mean," said George. Gabrielle didn't, but did not want to interrupt. "Verity's just a working witch. Nice, but not connected in the Ministry. So while Fred tries not to see it, I keep Mum happy by enduring Matty and the other Ildas. Uh, that's a secret too," added George sheepishly. He fell into an embarrassed silence.

They continued up the street from the Leaky Cauldron. Gabrielle noticed that while the occasional wizard called out a greeting to George, every one of the fewer witches watched with interest as they passed. Gabrielle was enjoying the walk, and was quite proud that George was sharing his secrets. Gabrielle wondered, if she were to walk closer to him, would he hold her hand? She veered closer and broke the silence, "What is an Ildas?"

"Oh, just what I call the Vane sisters. There's Gruenilda, Mathilda - that's Matty, and Romilda, the youngest. Their mother's name is Breumilda. I think it's a family tradition, or curse," explained George. Gabrielle's arm was now brushing his as they walked. George either did not notice, or was not inclined to hold her hand. Oh well, thought Gabrielle, it was silly schoolgirl idea anyway. "We're just lucky that Gruenilda is betrothed and Romilda is still in school. She has her heart set on Harry, anyway. Otherwise Fred would have to own up or double-date," continued George. "Right - stay close now."

Stay close, Gabrielle thought. I've been practically leaning against you. "Are we going to zee Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes?"

"Not this time, sorry. It's very hard to get back out of there - always a million things to take care of, always just one last thing," sighed George. "If you're really going to have a go at that cabinet, then you'll need some proper leather gear. The best leather-worker I know is on Knockturn Alley. It's a bit rough there, but he's not far in."

A bit rough was an understatement, thought Gabrielle. The buildings were darker and uglier, and so were the few people out on the street. Gabrielle noticed that here the witches called out to George, rather lasciviously, while all the wizards just watched them pass with interest. Gabrielle shuddered at the leers. When one wizard with huge hands and a scarred face licked his lips and showed sharp, dog-like teeth, Gabrielle gave up any concern over appearing mature and clutched George's arm.

"Nearly there," whispered George in reassurance. Gabrielle could not pick out the destination. The shop windows were either dark or dirty, and the signs above the shops gave no hint as to what they sold. George turned to one simply advertising itself as 'Lundequist LLP', with no merchandise displayed in the front window. It suddenly occurred to Gabrielle that every single member of the Delacour family and her extended family would punish her if they knew where she was. "This is it. Come on," led George.

Inside the shop and through an inner door, Gabrielle could see the proprietor did sell leather... things. The light in the shop was much brighter than even on the street, but it was not a warm, sunny light like in Madame Malkin's shop. It was a very cold, harsh light, like that of a gray day in late winter. The light shown down on a wide assortment of whips. Whips and leather undergarments. At least, thought Gabrielle, they could be undergarments if you did not mind all the little spikes poking holes in your clothes. Or the fact that there were openings where her own undergarments were pointedly closed. A very tall, gaunt-looking man with long dark hair and a goatee approached. He was wearing an example of the leather undergarments. It was impossible for Gabrielle to not notice that his ham-and-eggs seemed to be carried in a separate leather pouch tied to the front. She felt her face flame. George stepped in front of her and, before the man could speak, ordered, "Get Lunky for me, Theodore. There's a good chap."

"It'th Dove now and you know it, thweet pea," replied the gaunt man. He turned to go to the back of the shop, demystifying more of the human form.

"Oy, put some trousers on too. Or proper pants at least," called George after him. He turned to Gabrielle with a shrug, but before he could speak Gabrielle jumped in.

"What are we doing here? I do not zink I need anyzing from zis shop!" blurted Gabrielle.

"Easy now. You need some dragon-hide gloves, and Lunky's work is top-shelf. It's only his enthusiasm for his, er - hobbies - that keeps him off the main street. Well, that and his work in human skin," admitted George. "But that's a rarity these days."

Before Gabrielle could say that she did not need special gloves and anyway had brought no money with her, an older wizard with yellowed skin and just a few wisps of white hair arrived. The older wizard wore an elaborately tooled leather apron, heavily stained, that covered his bare chest to below his knees where bare legs were visible. I hope he does not turn around, thought Gabrielle. In this shop he may not be wearing anything else. The tall man - Dove, she remembered, stood behind the old man. Dove's lower half was now covered by a shiny red undergarment not much less revealing than the pouch it covered. I should not be here, thought Gabrielle.

"I thought I heard a cheeky devil in here," said the old wizard in a deep, raspy voice. "Now which Weasley has come calling today? Ah, and - who - is this?" asked the new arrival when he noticed Gabrielle behind George.

"Lunky, this is Gabrielle. Gabrielle, this is Lucifer Lundequist, Duke of such-n-such-dorf in Slovenia and master leather artist," introduced George. Gabrielle smiled politely and, she hoped, disarmingly. Lunky held out a hand to Gabrielle. When she reached for it, the man seized her hand in his with a quick lunge and kissed it. He released her instantly, and Gabrielle managed not to scream.

"I am the former Duke of Windischdorf, hereditary titles not meaning much these days after the Great War. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and I am pleased your beautiful radiance graces my shop. I am yours to command," declared Lunky formally.

"You've been drinking again, you nasty old man," accused Dove.

"Ye gods man! Put a robe on, and fetch some tea for the lady," scolded Lunky. When Dove scurried off, Lunky addressed the surprised Gabrielle. "What would you have me do?"

"We've come for one of your specials, Lunky," said George.

The old wizard looked shocked for a moment before freezing a grin on his face. "You mean..." he began, and turned his eyes to the racks of leather contraptions.

"No!" supplied George a little more loudly than necessary. "It's gloves we need, dragon-hide - the good stuff."

"Yes... gloves. Hmmm... mmm... uh-huh. I can see them, yes," said Lunky. His eyes had a faraway look to them, but he smiled broadly. Gabrielle smiled back. People who smile like that do not suddenly attack, thought Gabrielle. At least I hope so. The leather master drew a wand and flicked it toward a table. A tape measure reared up like a cobra and slithered toward her. "Come on Tippy, measure this little angel up."

Gabrielle had been measured before, so she was not alarmed by the tape even as it coiled its way up her leg. She did find the tape measure somewhat presumptuous when, after wrapping itself around her hips, it continued up her body under the jumper. Gabrielle was wondering why it was so intent on measuring what would someday be her bust, as she was supposed to be getting gloves, when the tape suddenly pinched her on said budding part. Gabrielle shrieked and slapped her hand to her chest.

"Tippy! None of that!" rasped Lunky. "I guess it found something it liked, eh? Ahem, sorry," apologized Lunky regretting his joke. Gabrielle found it surprising that George appeared annoyed rather than amused. "Finish up, Tippy. The tea will be here soon."

The tea did arrive shortly, on a trolley pushed by Dove. He now was dressed in a set of leather robes that were adorned with dozens of chains. He jingled as he moved. Gabrielle liked that. Tippy the tape measure was not quite done, though. It was now obsessively measuring her fingers, knuckle by knuckle. Gabrielle was beginning to lose her patience. She had gotten dragon-hide gloves with Maman for, hopefully, Beauxbatons. They were not fancy, but there had been only four sizes to try too. Five minutes of measuring by a rude little tape measure had not been required at all. Tippy started to slither up into the baggy sleeve of the jumper. Gabrielle pulled it back out, and it started to measure the hand that held it as well. She sighed.

Lunky and George had moved off to poke through sheets of leather hanging in frames. Dove left her when he heard the door to the shop open. At least no one will recognize me while I am in this shop, thought Gabrielle. What do people do with whips these days? She took a piece of cake from the tray.

Dove reappeared, his head visible over the racks of leather things. He was speaking to someone. Gabrielle moved to a better vantage point and could see the couple Dove was speaking to. The wizard, to Gabrielle, looked like any of the tired clerks in Papa's office. He was a little heavy, more sagging than fat, with thinning hair. The witch with him, on the other hand, looked amazing and would stand out anywhere. She was as tall as the wizard in her high-heeled boots, had glossy hair that was impossibly black, and wore blood-red lipstick to set off her pale skin. Her robes were also a shiny black, and were slit almost all the way up the sides revealing the fishnet stockings she wore. Gabrielle watched the witch prod her companion with something Gabrielle at first thought was her wand but could then see was a riding crop. That's one way to deal with boys, thought Gabrielle.

The tape measure finished her other hand, and tried to slip up her sleeve again. Gabrielle, distracted by the sagging wizard holding one of the leather outfits to his chin at the behest of the witch, did not catch it in time before it had wrapped around her arm. She struggled to pull it free as the tape poked at her ribs and armpit.

So, whirling around with one arm clamped to her side and the other up under the jumper, Gabrielle was finally able to fish out the snake-like tape. She held it out in front of her and gave it a good shaking. Only then did she notice that George and Lunky had returned and were watching her. Lunky at least was trying not to laugh; George only tried to laugh quietly. Gabrielle gritted her teeth at looking ridiculous again. At least, thought Gabrielle, I will not have to come back here.

Lunky summoned the tape measure to him, apologized to Gabrielle for its behavior, and turned to go. Gabrielle quickly averted her gaze in case her suspicions about what was under the apron were correct. "We can leave now?" asked Gabrielle.

"What? Lunky hasn't even started work on the gloves. It'll be half an hour, give or take. The shop is safe enough to wait in," replied George.

"Could I not have, eh, borrowed Ginny's gloves?" asked Gabrielle. Ginny was sure to have some, maybe even older ones. "I do not have any money. I did not know to bring any."

"It's my, er, treat. Lunky's gloves are both thinner and stronger than your standard dragon-hide glove," said George. "Much better when nimble fingers are needed. I won't use any other kind." Gabrielle was going to point out that she didn't need really good gloves just to get hexed, but didn't.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle found a game to play to pass the time. She would find rude leather creations in the shop, and bring them to George and ask what they were and what you were supposed to do with them. She wanted to see how pink his ears could get. George really became flustered when she asked her questions after Dove helped her into some of the leather costumes. Dove found it amusing that she still wore her clothes under the leather. Most of the ensembles would have been impossible for one person to properly do up, which seemed very impractical to Gabrielle unless one had house-elves. The accoutrements hung limply on her as they were sized for older women.

Gabrielle came around the racks to where George waited, carrying her latest find in front of her. It looked like two 'boudins noir' stuck together. The top of the 'G' on her jumper was covered by a sort of leather brassier made of two pointed cones of leather. She was too narrow for the item, and instead of projecting straight out from her chest the cones angled widely out to the sides. Dove had laughed himself breathless when she declared the cones made her feel like a bull, and would be useful in a crowded hallway. He had excused himself to find his vapors. Gabrielle also wore a kind of harness that ran in a complex web from between her legs to her arms. It made her waddle when she walked, but the strapping was intricately decorated.

George was not alone when Gabrielle arrived. Lunky stood, holding a box, and stared dazedly as she smiled sheepishly and tried to hide the long, curved item she carried. Gabrielle had to set it on the tea trolley in order to take the box that Lunky wordlessly thrust at her before he hurried off.

"What's up with him?" asked George. "You could put an eye with those," he added nodding at the cones. Gabrielle just shrugged and opened the box.

"Oh mon dieu!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "Zey are beautiful!" She lifted one of the gloves up. It was elbow-length, and a gleaming scarlet red. A letter 'G' was branded onto the back of the palm, and two crossed snakes wound and intertwined up the sleeve. No, realized Gabrielle, not snakes - whips! This will be hard to explain to Maman.

"Sweet Morgana - that's Chinese Fireball, that is," said George. "What's Lunky playing at? That's almost impossible to get."

Gabrielle had no answer for that. She pulled the gloves on. They fit perfectly, much better than the gloves bought for school. Those rubbed a little at the base of her thumb. The new gloves were so soft too that Gabrielle could hardly believe it came from a dragon. The school gloves were stiff, and needed to be oiled. Gabrielle could actually feel the indentations of the design even through the gloves. Gabrielle wondered though, why whips?

Dove strolled up, and asked, "What'th up with the old man? He'th tearing the workshop apart back there."

"I was wondering that myself. His work is tops, but if he thinks I'm paying for Fireball when I asked for Common Green then he's round the bend," declared George. "Sorry luv."

"No problem," said Dove.

"What?" asked Gabrielle. She had not been paying close attention because she was sniffing the gloves, but they smelled mostly of the shop and, she supposed, Lunky.

"Your boyfriend doethn't think your worth it," teased Dove. Gabrielle frowned. What, she wondered, did he mean by that?

"I never said that!" snapped George. Gabrielle looked at him quizzically. What, she wondered again, did that mean? George took a breath. "Look, I asked for Welsh Green for the leather. The Chinese wizards restrict exports to limit the the supply - it's at least ten times the cost. It's not right for Lunky to change my order," complained George.

"For those gloves the cost is the same," rasped Lunky. "There are times art means more than galleons." He held a box wrapped twine, and moved to Gabrielle.

"That explainth my pay," whispered Dove.

"Ze gloves are beautiful, very much. Eh, zank you," smiled Gabrielle.

"You remind me of my Shelly when we first met," whispered Lunky. "She was my inspiration, my reason to live back then. She is my muse even now. I worked hard to become worthy of her, and married her as soon as I could. I have never regretted a day. You remind me so much of Shelly, and of the fire I had back then. This is a gift for you. Open it later." Lunky pressed the box into Gabrielle's hands.

"Oh. Eh, zank you very much. I have, eh, enjoyed visiting your shop and I am glad to have met you," Gabrielle said politely. Gabrielle felt she had missed something somehow. She smiled her best smile. He probably would not attack.

"Please, come and visit again. I hope Shelly can meet you; you two have so much in common." said Lucky. He turned to Dove, "Ring up the gloves, will you? Two galleons, nine sickles as agreed. I added a stretch charm for when she grows - no charge."

"So much in common?" asked George in an amused tone. "Gabrielle reminds you of Mistress Shelly Lundequist, scourge of the SM club scene, your raven-haired Amazonian queen with the huge bazongas?"

"Will you be taking the 'bull hornth' too?" Dove asked Gabrielle. She shook her head no. "How 'bout the hentai special you're wearing? No? What about your new betht friend on the trolley then?"

"Oy. Just the gloves, Theodore." called George. Dove scowled at the name.

"Eh, are you all right, Monsieur, eh, Lunky?" asked Gabrielle. The old wizard seemed very distracted.

"Oh, just fine, my sweet. I was just thinking of taking the day off and spending it with Shelly. You seemed to have given me back some, er, vigor," smiled Lunky.

"Zat will be nice," said Gabrielle. She reached behind her back and unclasped the leather cones, which dropped away.

"Yes," breathed Lunky, "Much vigor."

v - v - v - v - v

They left the strange shop and George led the way back to Diagon Alley. George led because he was walking much more quickly than before. And Gabrielle,with her packages and shorter legs, would have to run a bit to keep up. She did not want to be left alone on this street of menacing strangers, or any street for that matter. When they turned the corner back onto the main street she felt a lot better, but was feeling a little miffed at George. He was acting like she wasn't there. Was he mad about the gloves? Gabrielle caught up to him again, and called, "George."

George did not seem to hear, and his mind seemed to be elsewhere as he stalked on. Gabrielle's hands were full so she could not grab him, and shouting would be embarrassing. She did have the wand, but she would still need a free hand, and the only spell she could see to use was the curse from Hermione. That would lead to disaster, thought Gabrielle. There was only one thing to do. She ran ahead of George a little bit, and kicked him in the ankle. "George, wait, please."

"Ow - Merlin, what was that for?" said George as he hopped on one leg to a stop.

"What is wrong George?" asked Gabrielle.

George looked sharply at her, "Did you do something to Lunky?"

Gabrielle was taken aback by the question, "Eh, what? No. I did nozzing."

"So he just decided to give you those gloves at a tenth of the cost, and something else as well?" asked George.

"He said I am like his wife," replied Gabrielle. "I did nozzing." She did not like the tone of his voice.

"Lunky's wife is five foot eleven, over eleven stone, with dark hair and tits that could've nursed Hagrid. I've met her. The only thing you have in common with her is you're both female. Maybe Fred is right and you are a succubus," accused George. Gabrielle's mouth dropped open.

"I am not. I did not ask for ze gloves! You know zis," said Gabrielle. She blinked her eyes to get rid of the prickling in them.

"Uh... right. That's right," said George slowly, thinking again. "You always get things for free in the shops?" he asked suddenly.

"No. Fleur does sometimes, and often Maman, but not me," replied Gabrielle. Although, thought Gabrielle, there had been Gaston.

"So you didn't use some secret Veela Confundus charm to influence him? Like Fleur does to Ron?"

"If zere is such a zing, I do not know it. I did nozzing," declared Gabrielle. How could he think she would do such a thing?

"I guess I'll have to believe you. I still think Lunky was acting funny," said George. He turned to resume walking.

"You guess you believe me? What do you mean you, eh, eh, bugger bastard?" exploded Gabrielle. "You call me a succubus and zen you walk away? I want ze apology! I did nozzing to ze old man, and you know zis! When would I have done somezing?"

"(Be slow, It is okay)," soothed George.

"(That made no sense.) Go, zen, if I am a succubus," seethed Gabrielle. She turned her back on him, then turned back to add, "You are a pig."

"All right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, really," apologized George. "It's just that a bloke needs to know what he thinks and, er, feels isn't just some sort of enchantment. Fred and I learned that the hard way."

"And what do you feel?" asked Gabrielle hopefully, turning around.

"Aww, is it over already? Just my luck I missed the first lovers' spat," called out Fred teasingly as he approached.

"What the blazes happened to you?" asked George.


	16. Fred's Truth

Chapter Sixteen - Fred's Truth

"Ah. Verity is a... little upset... right now. Well, actually, you could say she's in a murderous rage that will only be slaked with the spilling of my blood," sighed Fred. One side of his face was red and blistered, and the eye on the other side was swollen shut.

"So it didn't go well?" asked George.

"Does it bloody look like it went well?" snapped Fred. "Let's just get to Hogwarts. I don't fancy standing in line at St. Mungo's when Pommy's there." He stalked off toward the end of the street, pausing to add, "Verity quit."

"Oh bloody hell," whispered George staring after Fred. "Come on," he gestured to Gabrielle. She sighed, and followed after George. Gabrielle still felt wronged from before, and easily transferred some of those feelings to Fred. He probably deserved it, thought Gabrielle.

Fred did not go back to the alley they had apparated to. Instead, he turned into a pub. The sign hung over the way read Mended Wand. "Might as well do it up right," muttered George. "Scalded, slugged, sloshed, and splinched. A regular grand day out."

George pushed open the door of the pub, then stopped. He looked at Gabrielle,"Er-"

"I am not ze little girl, George, if you would see," huffed Gabrielle.

"Uh... right. I was just going to say 'after you'," said George, his face desperately fighting the smile that would lead to laughter. Gabrielle did not reply in case something else that was stupid came out of her mouth, and moved past George into the dim pub. It was definitely a wizarding pub as it was decorated in dark tones, and looked old and worn, though cared for. The place had a slightly seedy atmosphere to it. That was not helped by the bluish cloud of malodorous pipe smoke that hung near the ceiling. There was a table of eight or nine wizards under it, puffing away all hunched over a large crystal ball in the center of the table. They paid no attention to her entrance, though the rest of the half dozen or so occupants, except the one with red hair, turned to stare. Another place I should not be, thought Gabrielle.

George stepped beside Gabrielle and urged her forward with an arm around her shoulders. That helped improve her mood. They made their way to the bar. George stood leaning on the bar next to Fred; Gabrielle hopped up onto the stool next to George. She put her boxes on the bar next to her, earning a glare from the man behind the bar. She received another when she brought out Pepi's little cage.

The barman, a rough-looking man perhaps only a few years older than George, wiped his hands dry on his apron and came over to George. "What'll yeh have?"

George peered at the glass in front of Fred. "Firewhiskey, Slobbo, by the look of it." The barman pushed a glass in front of George with one hand and filled it from a filthy bottle with the other.

"You, lass?" asked the barman to Gabrielle.

"Eh, ze firewhiskey also," requested Gabrielle. It was the only liquor she had ever had. She did not have to drink all of it anyway, if she did not want to.

The barman barked a laugh. "In a decade maybe." said the barman, and he laughed again. "Try milk."

"I'll handle the wee cuttie, Slobbo," said an older man. His light hair was graying at the temples, and his face was quite weathered. The rolled up sleeves of his shirt revealed powerful forearms. He reminded Gabrielle of the muggle farmers that worked the land near Delacour manor. "Now yun'wan, firewhiskey, was it? T'is a mite strong for the likes of you, no?"

"Eh... I..." Gabrielle looked to George, but he was already talking to Fred. Fred was not talking back.

"Tell you what, my cuttie, how about some hot chocolate instead, with just a wee drop? For flavor?" asked the older man.

"Yes, zank you," smiled Gabrielle. That did sound much better.

v - v - v - v - v

The older man's name, Gabrielle learned as he chatted while the mixture heated, was Braeden O'Beirne. He had been a farmer, and still owned land, but now was the latest proprietor to try and make a go of the Mended Wand. Gabrielle was polite, but did not want to smile too much lest she be accused of confunding him. She had asked about how the pub was doing, which was, in reply, 'ruddy awful.' Mr. O'Beirne was betting that word would get around about the Irish whiskey he served. His son-in-law distilled it in Ireland - better than Ogden's he claimed with a grin. His daughter Anabel had married well. She was a dab hand at potions and a real help at the distillery.

Mr. O'Beirne returned from the back with a tall glass mug of hot chocolate. From the dusty bottle that the barman poured from, the proprietor added a quick splash of amber liquid. From his wand came whipped cream in a high dollop, and the mug was pushed in front of Gabrielle. "There you go, drink up. That's me mam's mam's recipe," Mr. O'Beirne said proudly. "God rest her soul."

Gabrielle thanked him again, sniffed the drink, and took a sip. The drink was good, but didn't taste so much of chocolate as, perhaps... Christmas. It tasted of Christmas, snow, and a warm smoky fire. The flavor and aroma reminded her of playing outside in the winter until her toes were numb and her hands felt like they were burning. She would go into the house, to the dim kitchen lit by candlelight, where there was always a fire burning in the open hearth. Bread would be baking and supper cooking. She could smell the freshly cut fir tree from down the hall. A warm embrace would meet her, then a mug of hot chocolate would be in her hands. A dribble from father's bottle was added to take the chill from her bones. And then someone hit her in the head.

The discordant note brought Gabrielle from her daydream, and she would have spilled the mug's contents except there wasn't much left. George was shoving Fred away. Mr O'Beirne was looking worried. Gabrielle rubbed her head and thought about the images. It never snowed at Delacour manor, and Maman's kitchen was full of windows. There was no hearth in the kitchen either; Maman used a modern oven and stove. The knock on the head had been real enough though.

"You feeling all right there, Annie?" asked Mr. O'Beirne.

"Eh, it is Gabrielle. 'G' is for Gabrielle. I am fine," smiled Gabrielle reassuringly, then frowned a bit as she rubbed her head again.

"Gabrielle, right, sorry. I'll be forgetting me wand next. Yon bowsie tapped you. Should I have Slobbo finish the job someone started on him?" and the pub's owner.

"No, zank you. He is having ze bad day. I hurt him worse, in ze morning, also." replied Gabrielle.

"Brings it on himself, I'll wager. Sure you're all right? You weren't moving at all."

"Yes. Ze 'ot chocolate is very good. It... it tastes of Christmas, snow, and a kitchen," explained Gabrielle. It occurred to her that that may not sound like a compliment.

The proprietor blinked at that. "Funny you should say that. It's what I think of when I make it. I was just a lad the first time me grandmother made it for me."

That explains the daydream, thought Gabrielle. It is a kind of magic, like making a potion where the scenes in your head are the ingredients. She smiled at Mr. O'Beirne.

Fred, after another round, started to relate his tale of woe. He had doubled back to the Leaky Cauldron for a cup of some exotic tea from something called Puddifoot's that Verity coveted. That had gone over really well, as had Fred's sincere, or at least sincere-sounding, apology. It was while Verity was expressing her relief and how dangerous the times were and how awful it is was just not knowing - which Fred referred to as whinging - that things went bad. He had tried to calm her fears by explaining that Mrs. Weasley had roped him into "taking Fleur's sister up to Hogwarts" for "a bit of a lark." At that point Verity had burst into tears, threw the scalding tea in his face, and then used the mug to wallop him. A shouting Verity stormed out of the joke shop, only to return to shout some more at Fred. Fred didn't seem to be able to recall her complaints. And then she quit. Something about the story sounded familiar to Gabrielle.

While the brothers discussed the relevance of the time of the month, and the possible effects of a jar of nundu bile accidently left open, Gabrielle suddenly understood why the argument between Fred and Verity seemed familiar. Aunt Laurel had been complaining to Maman at a tea about an actress leaving her favorite WWN program, and described the plot leading up to the departure. Maman did not follow the program but listened politely. Gabrielle was there because of Fleur's complaints. She was to learn proper behavior, and not yawn and make faces, so she had to listen politely as well. The plot had exactly the same situation as there was between Fred and Verity. Except, in the wireless program, it had been a Ministry department head who was secretly in love with his secretary, and she was secretly in love in return. It had never seemed realistic to Gabrielle that the two had never noticed their hidden longing for each other. The two characters had had a big fight as well, before finally realizing they were deeply on love. The actress then left the show. That was what upset Aunt Laurel. She rather liked the Ministry department head character and was looking forward to romantic banter including him.

Gabrielle had an epiphany. The argument between the characters was the same as well. The secretary had seen the department head with another women, who had been his cousin or something. The secretary character was hoping to go to a Ministry ball with the department head, and thought he was going to take the cousin instead. Why the woman would expect the man to suddenly notice her was a mystery to Gabrielle. She needed to change something about herself to get him to see, thought Gabrielle. "Does Verity know of ze wedding?" blurted Gabrielle.

Fred scowled at her, and George shook his head at her, "Not now, luv."

Gabrielle persisted, "Who is your guest at ze wedding, Fred?" Now George glared at her.

Fred, however, answered in frustrated tones, "I was thinking Verity. Guess I'll have to round up a bird from the pubs now."

"Eh, did she know zis?" If she had already been invited, then maybe a different episode would fit, thought Gabrielle.

"Well I was going to tell her tomorrow," sighed Fred.

Gabrielle opened her mouth to explain why Verity now hated him, but then her mind reeled at what Fred had just said. He was going to ask her the day before his own brother's wedding? How would Verity have time to find an outfit? Fleur could take up to two weeks to find something she liked. Perhaps this was for the best, if Fred was really so clueless. On the other hand, thought Gabrielle, why was Verity so upset? She must have realized Fred would need to ask someone weeks ahead of time. Unless she knew he had not, and she had gotten something to wear assuming he would ask her at the last minute. She would then be doubly disappointed if she thought Fred was going to take someone else, and doubly angry. This is what must have happened, concluded Gabrielle.

"Should I give her another knock on the head, do you think?" asked Fred.

"No, I don't think that would be a wise move," suggested George with a tilt of his head to the men behind the bar.

"You are very stupid, Fred," diagnosed Gabrielle.

"All the birds say so," laughed George. "And now he doesn't have his good looks to fall back on."

"Bugger off, the lot of you," complained Fred. "Oy Slobbo!" he called, pushing his glass forward. Slobbo looked past Fred to George, then pretended not to hear.

"Verity, she is jealous," announced Gabrielle. She smiled proudly at having solved Fred's problem.

"Jealous? Of who - mmm. Of whom?" puzzled Fred.

"Me," replied Gabrielle. She felt her face heat up when Fred exploded in laughter, slapping the bar as he gasped for air. Even George was having trouble holding his laugh in. "It is true!" asserted Gabrielle.

"You? Don't be daft, Gigi. George may find you interesting, but I think you're more... annoying," snickered Fred, drying his eyes.

George slapped the back of Fred's head. "I never said, er, I didn't mean.. uh..." stammered George as a smiling Gabrielle leaned across the bar to see his face. "Er, Verity doesn't know Gabrielle. Oy, Slobbo!"

Gabrielle savored the moment. George found her interesting. She was interesting to him. He was interested in her. They all mean the same, decided Gabrielle. "Zat is the reason! Verity zinks your mozzer is, eh, arranging for Fred to take anozzer, eh, Fleur to ze wedding. You can see that, yes?"

"Sounds like a bad wireless program. Where did you come up with this?" scoffed Fred.

Gabrielle had to admit it did come from a wireless program, and explained the plot after the twins' laughing quieted again. They found it less ridiculous when Gabrielle asked if Verity listened to the WWN programs.

"So what, then? The Ministry blokes apologizes, they go to the dance, and then live happily ever after?" asked Fred snidely.

"Eh, no. He apologized, and zey were to go to ze ball, but before zat ze woman was eaten by a dragon," explained Gabrielle. "Zere was an argument about her, eh, acting, eh, salary!" she added loudly over the guffawing twins. Honestly, thought Gabrielle. Did they have to make this so hard?

v - v - v - v - v

They made to leave the pub to look for Verity. George renewed the pain-killing charm for Fred's burns, since he thought Fred probably shouldn't be pointing a wand at anyone's face right now. Mr. O'Beirne tucked a very small, corked bottle of his son-in-law's firewhiskey into the twine wrapping Gabrielle's boxes as a present for her father. She thanked him politely saying her father was sure to enjoy it, although she was not sure her father even drank whiskey. Gabrielle could feel George eying her, but she could not be so rude as to refuse it. George moved over to her, and Gabrielle hoped he would not say something and cause a scene.

Instead, George fumbled under his shirt and eventually produced a small, flat square of heavy paper. A tap of his wand folded it into a box not much larger than her palm.

"This will make it easier to get around," said George. Gabrielle guessed it was a magic box like before. George picked up the box from Lunky, and shook it loudly. Seeing Gabrielle's shocked face he murmured, "Sorry, old habit." George jammed a corner into the much smaller box, then was able to slide it in. He put the bottle in next, then reached for the little cage.

"Eh, will zere be air enough for Pepi in ze box?" asked Gabrielle holding onto the cage. "It is a very small box."

"It'll be fine at least until we reach Hogwarts," assured George. "It doesn't need much, and when you take the gloves out it'll have plenty more." He finished loading the box and handed it to Gabrielle. Another tap of his wand and the box became as light as a feather.

"If you're through showing off, can we get a move on?" asked Fred. "I'm starting to get a bit crusty." Gabrielle put the small box into her handbag, and wondered what Verity would be like that she wanted to go out with Fred.

It did not take long to find Verity. She was in the first place they looked, which was the Leaky Cauldron. Verity had short blond hair, much closer to 'yella' than her own noted Gabrielle, and might have been pretty if her eyes and nose hadn't been so red from crying. She had not see them, so the twins retreated to the opposite corner to strategize. Fred had drunk at least three glasses of Mr. O'Beirne's Irish firewhiskey and George had had two. Gabrielle could not see any good coming from their plotting, and the brothers barely noticed her slip away. She went over to Verity.

"Eh, pardonez-moi. You are Verity, yes?" asked Gabrielle. She was shocked when the young woman looked up with a wand at the ready.

"I am. If one of the Weasley brothers sent you, you can tell him I don't care what either of them have to say. If you are one of the Weasley brothers..." said Verity circling her wand menacingly.

"Ze twins are over zere," pointed Gabrielle. "I am Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's sister. Eh, Fleur's only sister."

Verity just stared at her for a long moment. "Oh no," groaned Verity, and buried her face in her hands.

Gabrielle watched the witch cry, and hoped this would work. Introducing herself as Fleur's sister, and how quickly Verity had concluded that Fred would not be taking Gabrielle to the wedding, was doing nothing for Gabrielle's self-confidence. Gabrielle sat down across from Verity in the booth.

"Did you get a dress for ze wedding?" asked Gabrielle. She wondered if she had been right on that.

"Dress, shoes, everything," sniffed Verity. "I... I wanted him to see me, you know, differently."

"Fred, he was to ask you tomorrow. He is very stupid."

Verity laughed. "They all are when it comes to some things." She wiped her eyes. "Fred is amazing, and is really very sweet if you know what to look for." This, thought Gabrielle, sounded more like optimism than reality.

Gabrielle was about to ask Verity if she should get Fred when a shadow fell across the table. Fred had stepped up to Verity. He looked healed now and not crusty. Except... there was something wrong. When Fred started to speak to Verity, Gabrielle interrupted.

"George, what are you doing?" Gabrielle asked. The figure's head snapped around to face Gabrielle. He had not noticed her as she was partially hidden by the high back of the booth. He turned quickly back to Verity and opened his mouth, but Gabrielle cut him off. "It is okay now. Tell Fred he must come over and ask her, please." Gabrielle tried to smile reassuringly.

"How d'you know it was me?" asked George.

That was a good question, thought Gabrielle. They were twins, and now his clothes matched Fred's. He had not spoken yet, so there had been no clue there. Yet there was something about him. "Eh, you smell nice?" guessed Gabrielle.

"Wonder if there'd be a market for it?" joked George. "George-in-a-jar. Pure masculinity, bottled. I'll call it 'Beater' - use this and you'll have to beat 'er off you." The tips of his ears were pink, though, when he left the two witches.

v - v - v - v - v

It is obvious now, thought Severus Snape as he rubbed his temples, why the Dark Lord fell. It had to be exhaustion; the reborn body collapsing under the strain of tracking dozens of plots. The screeches of irate owls in the next room, angry at having their messages forcibly removed, was giving him a headache, his hand still ached from the little scroll sealed with a curse, and his ear stung from the poultice.

There were so many messages arriving. Many were quite terse, and several were in a kind of code as far as he could tell. The longer ones were all addressed to the Chairman of the Wizard Alliance for Social Isolation party, and requested or offered support for his great plan. Snape recognized a good number of the family names and wondered if they truly knew who they were communicating with.

Fortunately there were fewer callers. Narcissa handled the one expecting to meet the Chairman. They were easy to spot, as they arrived via the front door. Snape handled the ones who sidled in the back way. All were told that the Chairman or Dark Lord had taken ill and would need days to recover, and that any messages they had would be relayed.

The most difficult messenger had not been a razor-taloned post owl with a cursed message, but a frantic young Death Eater. He was exhausted from the multiple apparitions it took to get to Malfoy Manor from the North Sea, and was in a state of alarm bordering on panic. In his Durmstrang-learned, accented English he argued with Snape, demanding access to the Dark Lord directly. The former professor resorted to slapping charms to focus the young man's attention. A perfectly executed, but blocked, slashing curse left Snape bleeding from a nick on his ear. Minus his wand and more subdued, the desperate Death Eater spoke of huge muggle ships carrying scores of giants. The giants were getting restless, and the muggle crew of one ship had been eaten, leaving the massive ship adrift. Fighting was breaking out, there weren't enough wizards to quell the situation, and could the Dark Lord help before the loathsome creatures ruined the plan? Severus informed him that the Dark Lord would not come, and scathingly suggested that if there was less panic and more thinking they would have remembered that the mountain-bred giants, immensely strong, thick-skinned, and above all heavy, would not know how to swim. Every child learns a jinx to make a floor slippery, Snape suggested. You simply need to slide the unruly ones into the sea until the remaining ones come around.

Snape had sent the young Death Eater back north on his own. He did supply the messenger with a couple of draughts of a restorative for his journey. This was no time to alert the Ministry with a splinching. The situation with the giants bothered Snape. That he was unaware of what a probably large contingent of Death Eaters was up to was worrying. Perhaps his assumed role of confidant was not as assured as he thought. It was certainly more of a concern than not knowing about this WASI business. Snape wondered how that worked anyway. The Dark Lord was well past merely humanoid, but a far cry from the attractive, polished politicians in favor these days. How was it possible for so many to have met the Dark Lord and not have noticed to whom they spoke? The fools dare not say his name out of fear, but they now seek an audience with him.

In a suspicious frame of mind now, Snape once more dwelt on the meeting between the Ministry and the Dark Lord. The thought that he himself could be used as a bargaining chip in the negotiations was unnerving.

v - v - v - v - v

Thinking back on Fred and Verity, Gabrielle could not remember if anyone had apologized for anything. Certainly Fred hadn't much chance to speak. He had barely greeted her when Verity went from horrified at his appearance to ranting at him to take better care of himself. She wanted to know why he had not gone to St. Mungo's, why he had not gotten a salve from the apothecary, and didn't it hurt? Fred mentioned Madame Pomfrey and Hogwarts, then took a deep breath. Gabrielle thought he was going to ask Verity to go to the wedding, or that he was going to be angry about his injuries. He never got the chance to do either as Verity demanded to know how drinking firewhiskey was going to get him to the medi-witch, how he could not know how dangerous it was to apparate after drinking, and why he didn't buy a potion if he was in pain. Fred looked a bit panicked at this point in the onslaught to Gabrielle. He mumbled something about her quitting with his hands up defensively. Verity burst into tears and they embraced awkwardly. Fred acted like Verity would explode, which, to Gabrielle, did not seem to be out of the question. He cleared his throat and mentioned the wedding. It was not actually an invitation. It was more a statement that there would be one, but it was good enough for Verity. She announced she would love to go with Fred, that he should come round her flat tomorrow for dinner, and that he could even stay for breakfast. Verity apparently had not intended to say that, as she clapped her hand to her mouth and blushed before rushing off with a stammered excuse. Fred stood looking somewhere between confused and proud of a job well done, before Gabrielle startled him when she proclaimed that Verity was completely insane. Fred grinned at that, which seemed an odd reaction to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle kicked at a mouldering hay bale. The three of them were in an abandoned out-building on a farm of some kind. Possibly it was a former farm, based on the mustiness. The twins had done sobering charms on each other before leaving. Done correctly the charm was quite painful. Gabrielle had not known that. Fred asserted that it was the universe's way of reminding you that nothing was free.

Gabrielle had done Side-Along apparition with George again. Although he did not look very tired to Gabrielle's scrutinizing eyes, George announced in a disgusted tone that he had reached his limit. He and Fred then groused about Harry's greater ability in that area. George thought apparating was done by opening a tunnel through the spacey-magic-some-such. If Fleur had said that, Gabrielle knew she would have accused her of making up words. George seemed to think that the distance one could travel easily was limited by the size of the tunnel, and how quickly it dwindled. He hadn't heard of anyway to change the size of the proposed passage. Fred thought this was plausible, since Harry was smaller and wiry so even a slightly larger opening should give him more range, whereas they were manly men who had grown faster than their tunnels. That sounded like just an excuse, thought Gabrielle. The brothers thought the squeezed feeling of the Side-Along apparition fit into the analogy well. They tried to estimate the relative size of Harry's spatio-opening by comparing the loads and distances. Fred returned to his number one spot on Gabrielle's list by referring to her - twice - as pretty scrawny. She had just not finished growing yet, and she would be putting the little wand to good use when they reached Hogwarts.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle did Side-Along with Fred for the next leg. George would throw an arm pleasantly around her shoulders to apparate; Fred thought it funny to put her in a head-lock. The destination this time was a furnished office on the second story of a building overlooking a muggle street. Weird grinding noises and hammering occurred at intervals. It made Gabrielle jump at first. The twins explained that that was why they had rented the office here. Situated between two automobile repair shops as it was provided good cover for the sounds of apparition. Also, there was a chip shop right across the street.

The brothers went back to discussing spatio-magio-interstitials. Gabrielle watched the cars outside in the street. George was describing an idea where their magic boxes, paired up and given something that was either affinity or infinity, would be able to expand out toward each other and merge. The loud whirring from next door made it hard to hear. It would be like a dedicated Floo connection.

Fred thought that would be a profitable market as a replacement for international port-keys, and he was sure the Krishnas would be interested in the idea. "In the meantime," said Fred, "do you remember that trick step, third floor staircase, at Hogwarts?"

"Sure, what of it?" asked George.

"Well, say you take a box and nearly flatten it, add a trigger to it, then stick it on the bottom of a shoe. Your victim is walking along, carrying a tray of food or a set of prized china, when suddenly their leg drops into a hole. That'd be pretty funny, right?" proposed Fred.

"Yeah," agreed George. He fished out another box from under his shirt. Where is he keeping those, wondered Gabrielle. "Yeah it would be," he added with a grin.

So the idea to revolutionize magical transport was set aside, and George and Fred busied themselves with modifying the box. When it was rightly flattened, it was stuck to the bottom of Gabrielle's shoe and she walked around the office. The triggering spell would be added later; for now Fred would cancel the barrier over the opening with his wand.

It did not work. There was considerable discussion as to why, and Gabrielle's shoe was taken from her for tabletop experiments without them even asking. As Gabrielle hopped around the brothers, the problem with the prank was diagnosed as the sole of her shoe not passing the interstitial event horizon. Gabrielle wondered if that was a real thing. George reshaped the box again and listed to Fred a litany of issues that needed solving. Fred just wanted to focus on whether it was funny or not.

Eventually Gabrielle's shoe was passed back to her. She looked at dubiously. The paper of the box clearly overlapped the edges of the shoe. Gabrielle put it on though, and Fred handed her a stack of seat cushions to carry.

"Pretend they're something fragile your Mum likes, Gigi," ordered Fred.

"Gabrielle. It is Gabrielle, please," complained Gabrielle.

"You said Gigi was all right," argued Fred.

"I did not!"

"You did. Just this morning in fact. Right George?" asserted Fred. Gabrielle turned to face George.

George cleared his throat. "That is, uh, what some people might have heard. People who, for instance, hide their pain behind the personae of the Fool." Gabrielle stared uncomprehendingly.

"Ha! Now start bleeding walking," snapped Fred.

"Or people who are total wankers," mumbled George. He shrugged his shoulders. Fred would regret his rudeness, vowed Gabrielle to herself. She crossed the room and returned, carrying the cushions as if Maman's crystal ball was on it. Gabrielle repeated the circuit. It was on the third pass, as she walked toward George, that the floor seemed to swallow her leg. Gabrielle screamed in surprise and sent the cushions flying as she flopped forward onto them. Fred roared his laughter in approval, George joining in. Gabrielle, as the victim, did not find it as funny. She was not hurt, but it was an uncomfortable landing. Her leg now appeared to end at mid-thigh, which was an unpleasant image. She pulled the box off, which disappeared in a puff of smoke, and waited for the twins to stop.

"Right! That's a keeper, that is," declared Fred, giving a big thumbs-up.

George nodded enthusiastically. "It'll be huge. Oy - imagine you get a bloke to wear two of 'em and set it off when he's just standing. He'd come up singing like a house-elf!"

George and Fred began spinning out scenarios of how and where the new prank could be used, and what kind of triggering spells would be needed. Gabrielle felt like she had been forgotten in their discussions. She had to interrupt the two of them to contribute her idea. Gabrielle thought it would be funnier if, when the box was pulled off, it took your shoe with it. She had a vision of Fleur standing awkwardly on one foot trying to fish out her shoe when she explained it. Even Fred thought that was a good addition.

v - v - v - v - v

They arrived just outside the gates to Hogwarts, on the path from Hogsmeade. Gabrielle pulled out of Fred's head-lock in irritation and tried to smooth her hair. George and Fred drew out their wands, and hurried Gabrielle down the path between them. Once the three of them passed the gates, Gabrielle asked, "It is safe at ze school?" She couldn't help notice the wary glances the twins gave the shadowed forest.

"In the school, yes. Right now we have to pass the deepest parts of the Forbidden Forest," explained George. "There are parts that even Hagrid won't go into, and nobody is sure what the centaurs will do now." Gabrielle reached for the knife from Gaston that was in her pocket, but stopped. As a proper witch she should use her wand. Or, that is, Fred's wand. She pulled it out of her handbag.

"Well that should frighten the lot," smirked Fred. "This path has always been safe in the past," he added. "It's the more interesting ways to the castle that are too exciting these days." Fred pointed at a spider web that could have hid a house. "You'll want to avoid those - nasty buggers." The webs Fred pointed to suddenly shuddered, with a snapping of branches. Gabrielle jumped back while also stepping back in surprise, which tumbled her to the ground. From the shelter of the trees came a large form sweeping aside the giant web.

"Wot d'yer mean there's parts of this here forest I won't go? I'll go where I pleases on Hogwarts grounds," boomed the huge man. Gabrielle got to her feet and moved behind George.

"Hagrid! Good to see you old man," greeted George.

"Yeah. We'd have been looking for you when we got to the castle," said Fred.

"George. Fred," greeted Hagrid. "Er, Fred. George," he tried when the twins pointed to each other.

"Hagrid, this is Gabrielle Delacour. Gabrielle, this is Professor Hagrid," introduced George.

"Call her Gigi if you want to be on her good side," said Fred quickly.

"Hullo there, Gigi. Last time I saw yeh, yeh were such a little thing," said Hagrid offering his massive hand.

"Hello Professor," said Gabrielle as politely as she could as she seethed over Fred's trick. How could she correct the professor without seeming to be rude? Fred would have to pay. She put out her own hand and it was taken gently by rough fingers that looked thicker than her wrist.

"Nah, none o' that. Just Hagrid will do. Come along for a spot of tea."

"Thanks Hagrid," said George. "We're going to try that cabinet again."

"It looks ter me like George there already had a go," noted Hagrid as they continued toward the castle.

"Zat is Fred," piped Gabrielle. "And his girlfriend did zat." Fred turned to glare at her. Ha, thought Gabrielle.

"Eh? Got yerself a lively one then," said Hagrid. He gave Fred a nudge that sent him stumbling. "Wot's her name? Wot's she like?"

Tea at Professor Hagrid's house was very interesting to Gabrielle. She certainly never expected a professor to live in such a tiny cottage, nor for the furnishings to be so ramshackle and mismatched. They appeared to be second-hand at best, and some likely salvaged. Gabrielle put it down to eccentricity. The professor also kept a huge dog in the house as well. Fang, the dog was called, and he was as tall as Gabrielle's shoulder. The hound barked loudly and jumped about when they entered the home. Fang sniffed the twins and licked their hands. He sniffed Gabrielle as well, but licked her face, ear, and hair until Hagrid called him off. Even then, when she sat down in an over-sized chair, the dog insisted on laying his head in her lap. That would have been fine with Gabrielle except that Fang drooled constantly. She scratched his ears anyway, surrendering to his doleful stare.

Hagrid steeped a cauldron of nettle-mint tea,and offered Fred a slab of dragon-meat as a poultice for his face. Fred declined and quickly asked about the acromantulas. Gabrielle could see this was a way to end the big man's questions about whether Fred was finally settling down. Professor Hagrid, who Gabrielle learned was also the grounds-keeper, did not mind the change in topic. "It was hard fer a bit," answered Hagrid. "But we came to an agreement." He explained that it was like when the old kings died. The king's children would work together for a time, then they would turn on each other. "Weren't that many real big uns to start with, and there were a lot less after the fights. The littl'uns don't have the fangs ter get ter me properly. Still itches like mad though, let me tell you. Grawpy and me jes' squashed the ones that wouldna listen." He frowned and continued sadly, "It almost broke me heart. I could see a bit o' Aragog in each of their faces." Hagrid didn't say anything for a bit, then brightened. "I got 'em spread along the outer edges of the forest. A bit more elbow, er, leg room an' they get first chance at any prey wanderin' in. An' if they catch any humans, they knows to wrap 'em up and get word ter me."

Hagrid served the nettle-mint with something called rock cakes. Gabrielle's tea was in a large, heavy stoneware mug that was really more of a pitcher. In the extra large chair with the extra large mug, she had never felt so small. George asked about the centaurs, and Gabrielle wondered if she was being pranked again since her rock cake seemed to be made of rock. She noticed the twins shifted the cakes about on their plates, but didn't try to eat them. While Hagrid described leaving potions in the woods for the centaurs to find and hopefully use, Gabrielle searched under Fang's droopy ear and in her pocket for her knife. She quietly unfolded the knife into the pliers, and squeezed the rock cake in their jaws as hard as she could. There was a loud crack, which seemed to startle only her. Even Fang had not flinched. Gabrielle put the rock cake back on her plate. She pried at the crevice the pliers had caused and pulled it open. She found that the very center of the cake was still soft, and tasted of honey.

"If they aren't using the potions, maybe they're not that bad off?" suggested Fred.

"Nah. The centaurs are quiet about it, but a grave that large is hard to hide," said Hagrid. "There were two new uns at the hollow this morning. They call it Bane's Folly now."

"Won't Firenze allow you to help in anyway?" asked George.

"Blimey, yeh should have seen the way they looked when Grawpy and I helped ter bury the first six. Like we were stealing their foals," complained Hagrid. What strange names people have in Britain, thought Gabrielle. There's Lunky, Dove, Slobbo, and now Grawpy. No wonder Fred expects me to have a nickname. Gabrielle sipped her tea. It was quite unlike normal tea and it tingled on her tongue. It made her think of secret places that were shaded and damp. A hidden, sheltered grotto amidst a tree-fall, still untouched by the drying sun. A place next to the tough, nasty plants fighting to reclaim the ground under the opened canopy so their more tender brethren could return. It would the kind of place where if one were patient and quiet, one could see amazing sights. Sights like a wood nymph emerging from the cool shadows in the twilight. She would greet the gentle observer as a friend, and with a quiet woof... Gabrielle blinked her eyes, just in time to see Fang's huge tongue reach out to her face. She put down the heavy mug and pushed the dog's great head away.

"I'm thinking o' gettin' a herd o' sheep," announced Hagrid.

"Sheep? That's not your style mate. Maybe with fangs and claws instead of hooves?" asked Fred.

"Or some harpy blood in them for the bleat of death," suggested George. "I can't see you tending the shaggy lumps."

"Nah, they wouldna be int'resting or anything. Jes' some meat ter trade with the centaurs," explained Hagrid. "It might be the only thing ter see the herd through winter."


	17. Karma Balance

Chapter Seventeen - Karma Balance

Harry rubbed his eyes. Ever since he had learned the handwriting was Snape's he found it more difficult and irritating to read. He scribbled down the last of the instructions for the potion, and blew on the ink to help it dry. Harry had decided to rename the potion Suspended Animation to make Hermione feel better. It was something he had picked from a movie Dudley had watched on the telly. Calling it that instead of Living Death made Harry feel better as well.

When the ink was dry enough, Harry rolled up the scroll and set it aside. He took up the potions book again and moved to the window. Harry was beginning to wonder if he had dismissed Hermione's suspicions of a curse a little too quickly. That would make her happy, thought Harry. She liked finding out that she had been right all along about things, which might explain her taking up with Ron. That'd be a lifetime of him figuring out that she was right in the first place, but being too stubborn to just do what he was told. Anyway, he couldn't be sure, but reading through the scribbles in the margins in the late morning light was good, and going through the book back to front was better. The little notes didn't make as much sense like that, but neither were they as seductive.

Which made Harry think of Ginny again. She said she was exhausted, and Hedwig had returned without a message from her, so perhaps she was sleeping. Maybe, thought Harry eying his broom, I should just check on her.

v - v - v - v - v

Hagrid had let them into the castle, easily swinging open a door Gabrielle could not have hoped to budge. Hagrid left them to attend to some business. He tapped the side of his nose when he said it, but it meant nothing to Gabrielle. Before he left though, Hagrid warned the twins not to take any more armor as it upset Filch. He advised staying clear of the library, also, as Madame Pince was "not right" and then slipped Gabrielle two more of the rock cakes in a dirty linen.

The castle seemed even larger than she remembered it. She supposed it was because it was so empty now. Their footsteps echoed; even their breathing seemed to echo from the gray stone walls. It made Gabrielle want to shrink down and move as quietly as she could. It made George and Fred break into song. They sang very loudly about the Chudley Cannons, though Gabrielle suspected that some of the words had been changed as it was not very optimistic.

There were problems with the stairs. George and Fred, with longer legs, would get ahead of her and before she could get to the landing, the staircase would start to move leaving her stranded. The two brothers would then duck down seemingly random corridors, reappearing at much higher or lower levels on the gallery moments later, before the three would be reunited. After the third such incident they resorted to holding hands, which was quite all right with Gabrielle. She also, as was probably planned, fell into the trick step.

By the time they reached the classroom with the cabinet, it was quite close to lunch. In fact, Fred was in favor of retracing their steps all the way back down and then lower still to the kitchens. Gabrielle suspected that he just wanted her to fall into the trick step again. George reminded him that time was galleons. Gabrielle told him that he should have eaten his rock cake as they were really quite filling. Both George and Fred looked at her as if she had suggested eating dragon dung. She decided not to mention the cakes in her handbag.

The classroom was dark and cheerless, with the most hideous paintings on the wall. It was not like any classroom she had ever seen at Beauxbatons. The classrooms there, at least the ones Fleur had showed her, always had many large windows. That was true even if the classroom was deep inside the school.

Fred noticed her looking around. "Lovely décor, isn't it? It fit Snape's personality perfectly."

"What did he teach?" asked Gabrielle. She hoped it was not how to disembowel people as the painting she looked at showed over and over again.

"Defense against the Dark Arts," replied George. "Although he might have thought of it as Dark Arts, against the Defense. Never mind, luv," he said to Gabrielle's uncertain look.

"Why is zere a potions cabinet here zen?"

"He used to teach potions. It's kind of an open challenge, right? His traps and seals against your ingenuity and counters," answered Fred. "Snape wanted to see if his students could figure a way to open it."

"What would zey get if zey did open it?"

George laughed, "Detentions probably, if you weren't in Slytherin house. This is Snape we're talking about."

Fred clapped his hands once, "Well, to business. You're up, Gigi."

Gabrielle swallowed past the lump on her throat. She had managed to put why they were there out of her head, but there was no avoiding it now. Well, she thought, I might as well look like I know what I am doing. She opened her stuffed handbag and pulled out her pouch of specially bent wires. Gabrielle hoped the picks were still neat when she unrolled them and that the twins would notice. She changed her mind when she revealed the tangled, ruined wires that were the result of unlocking Harry's door.

It was too late for that, Fred spotted the mess and snatched it up. "What happened here?" he asked.

"Eh, Harry's door did zat," claimed Gabrielle. If the lock had been cooperative, thought Gabrielle, it wouldn't have happened.

"This is what you used to open Harry's door?" demanded Fred incredulously. "I'm surprised you got it back out of the lock."

"That's... that's very, er, inventive," said George, failing to completely suppress his snickers.

"I got ze cloak, did I not?" asked Gabrielle crossly. "Eh, please, can you fix zem?"

"Sure, luv," said George. "You just need to go lightly 'til they look right. _Reparo_... _reparo_. Hmm, maybe one more. _Reparo_." The tangle untangled slowly until the wires popped apart.

"Zank you, George."

"Did you make these your self?" asked Fred suddenly. He had been inspecting the other picks and combs. "There's no marking on them."

"No, my friend Philippe made zem," replied Gabrielle.

"Your boyfriend?" asked Fred teasingly.

"No! He's, eh..." He is, thought Gabrielle, what? He was not her boyfriend. Someone she plays with? Mature young woman do not play. "He is just a friend." She added, "A family friend."

"Uh huh. He'll be a Beauxbatons too?" insinuated Fred.

"No. He is a..." Gabrielle stopped herself and grimaced. She did like Philippe, but she also knew a lot of wizards looked down on squibs, and any witch or wizard associating with one. Gabrielle honestly did not expect George and Fred to be like that, but it was not her secret to share. "...is not," she finished.

"A squib, then, is he?" asked Fred eagerly with a gleam in is uninjured eye. Gabrielle frowned. She did not like where this was going. Philippe was her friend only because Aunt Laurel was sure that Gabrielle was a squib also, and had convinced Maman that Gabrielle should have friends in that community, just in case. Maman also liked that the Touliers had nothing magical that Gabrielle could hurt herself on. Still, Philippe really was her friend and she did not want him mocked. "Does he live near a port? Drive a car?" queried Fred.

"Eh, what?"

"We're looking to expand on the continent. We think squibs make excellent import/export agents," explained George.

"They work better with muggles, and can get into the magical community. Less obliviation all round. You would not believe how cheap muggle shipping is either. Does Philippe live near Le Haver?" added

Fred.

"Le Haver? Where is zat?" asked Gabrielle. "Philippe is not old enough to drive. Monsieur Toulier has a car."

"He means Le Havre," corrected George. "(Philippe speaks English?)"

"(No, not much. His English is like your French,)" replied Gabrielle. She could see George was repeating her words to himself by the slight twitching his lips made. That is so cute, thought Gabrielle.

"Ah! A regular linguistic genius then," said George finally.

"No car though. What about these Toolies?" asked Fred.

"It is Toulier, and you are not to bozzer zem!"

Fred started to say something but George cut him off, "We don't have to worry about it here. We'll give you a letter to take to them, all right?" It was a question for Gabrielle, but George was looking at his brother. Gabrielle hoped she would not be set on fire because of this.

"Well that settles it, I guess," acquiesced Fred. He crossed his arms and leaned against the large podium at the front of the classroom. "Let's get on with this then," he said impatiently.

Gabrielle put the newly repaired picks back into place. Seeing them all neatly arranged again made her feel more confident. She reached into her handbag and pulled the box with the gloves from the magic box. Gabrielle also checked on Pepi; he was fine. She would have to ask George if Pepi was actually a he though. Gabrielle pulled on the scarlet gloves.

"You took her to Lunky's?" exploded Fred, springing back up.

"Of course. You know I won't use anything else," replied George calmly.

"You aren't going to use those! And is that Fireball?" demanded Fred.

While George explained about Lunky's shop and bickered with Fred, Gabrielle looked at the cabinet. It was made of very thick wood, and had a glass-paned front. There were scorch marks by the lock, which did not look like much of a lock anyway, and that probably meant it was heavily spelled. The wood around the panes of glass on the door had also suffered abuse, but the glass showed no signs of damage. Gabrielle began to wonder how much this was going to hurt when she saw a spatter of what looked like blood under where the lock was. She had been expecting more of the twins' style of tricks, really. Gabrielle drew a deep breath, girded herself for what was to come, and was about to stick one of her specially bent wires into the lock when she stopped. The hinges, she thought. They are right there. She could pry the pins out of the hinges. The door should then either come off or pivot on the lock, depending on how the lock was

spelled. It was, Gabrielle knew, not really unlocking the cabinet. It was cheating, but if George and Fred did not see her...

"Eh, you should see Madame Pomfrey, Fred," declared Gabrielle when Fred paused in his description of all the awful things that lay in store for George when Mrs. Weasley found out that he had taken Gabrielle to Knockturn Alley. "You should take him, George."

"I'm not missing this," said Fred. "I could use a good laugh today."

"We've got to stay in case you set something off," added George.

Gabrielle tried a different tactic. "Eh, ze lock is not a problem, but, eh, I will use ze, eh, Veela spell," announced Gabrielle in what she hoped was a confident voice. "I need to undress; you can not stay."

That certainly surprised them, thought Gabrielle. Both Weasleys' mouths had dropped open.

Fred recovered first, "I wish the term was started - we could sell tickets!"

"You aren't serious are you?" asked George. "It's just a scam to get out of trying the lock, right?"

Gabrielle turned back to the cabinet. How, she wondered, did George know? Was she that transparent to him? Or was it just a guess? She knew the words to the chant used to bring about a warrior's defeat. It was almost the same as the protective one Ginny had used, except for three words. Hermione was scandalized at the implied treachery. Gabrielle figured that was because Hermione had not seen the section on the devotions. Gabrielle started to chant.

"I'm not buying this," declared Fred. Gabrielle ignored this and kicked off her shoes. She continued chanting and pulled off her socks. Gabrielle nearly changed her mind - the floor was so cold.

"Wait, wait. What if you get hurt? We'll have to come in," worried George. Gabrielle could hear the uncertainty in his voice. That was good as she was coming to the end of her bluff. The jumper would cover her; she had thought to wear it as a dress. Still chanting and facing away from the twins, Gabrielle pushed her denims to the floor and stepped out of them. She was breathing heavily now, and could feel a huge blush coming on. This had better work, she thought.

There was a strangled noise behind her, and sounds of a scuffle. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" complained Fred before the thud of the door closing told her they had left.

Gabrielle's head spun. The nervousness gave way to relief, which gave way to triumph. Her trick had worked. She had fooled the twins. There was only the merest twinge of disappointment at not having been dared to go further. He had not even teased her. Was he not at least curious? They, thought Gabrielle, I meant they.

Of course, she still had to deal with the cabinet. Gabrielle put her socks and shoes back on. One could lose toes to frostbite in here, grumbled Gabrielle. She pulled the knife from her denims, and went to work on the hinges. She started the chant again in case the twins were listening at the door.

It was not as easy as she had hoped. The pins of the iron hinges were rusty and hard to extract. There were also odd drafts and the feeling of static in the air, like something was building up. Or, perhaps, coming apart. She was glad for the gloves as the pliers had slipped several times; at least she was not bloodied. The last hinge pin, at the bottom, came loose so suddenly she smashed her hand into the middle hinge. She could not stifle a squeal of pain.

"Gabrielle, are you all right?" came George's muffled voice.

Gabrielle squeezed the injured area and massaged it. "I am fine. I am near ze end," she replied. She couldn't make out what George said next. He was probably talking to Fred.

Gabrielle used the hinges as a handle and swung the door outward from the hinged side. At least she tried to. As soon as the hinges came apart and the door started to open, filaments of flickering yellow crackled into existence along the top and bottom edges. It surprised Gabrielle and she pulled back quickly. The door snapped shut with a crack.

"Gabrielle?" called George with a rapid knock.

"It is okay," replied Gabrielle. She could not decide whether she was flattered or annoyed by the checking. Was he so concerned, Gabrielle wondered, because he is interested in me or because he thinks I am a little girl? Either way, he could not come in now when the hinges were still undone. They would see that she could not open the lock.

Gabrielle searched the room, and found a supply of old textbooks. They would be useful for propping the cabinet door open. She pulled on the bottom hinges to open the cabinet. The crackling, spitting noise of the filaments grew louder the more she pulled the door open. The door also became harder to move as the gap widened. Gabrielle was only able to get two of the thick books in. The top corner of the door flexed alarmingly as the yellow energy tried to close the door. It is definitely spelled, noted Gabrielle, as glass should not bend like that. She grabbed the top hinge to control the bucking door and jammed two more books in.

That left a gap wide enough for her arm. It also seemed to make the door angry, and the unsupported middle vibrated wildly with a buzzing rattle. It sounded very much like the strange noise from the car repair shops. "I am fine!" Gabrielle shouted over the din, anticipating George's query. Although a silencing spell spell would be nice right now, thought Gabrielle, if there was someone with a wand besides George and Fred.

Oh yes, remembered Gabrielle with a pleased smile, that would be me. She pulled out the little wand from the bottom of her handbag, taking off her glove so she could feel it better. Swishing Fred's wand - no, it was her wand - felt so right. Gabrielle pirouetted into a lunge, the wand defeating her... her enemies. Gabrielle knew that was what she should have thought, but the image in her mind had been Fleur.

Gabrielle knew what to do about the noise, of course. Now the image of Fleur in her head pulled out her wand and cast silencio. How often had Gabrielle seen Fleur do that?

"_Silencio_," called out Gabrielle, flicking her wand as she remembered her sister doing. "_Silencio_," she repeated a bit louder. "_Silencio! Silencio!_"

Gabrielle put the little wand back into her bag. The noise might, perhaps, be a little quieter, thought Gabrielle. Anyway, it was not that loud in the first place so silencing it was not important.

Gabrielle went back to the cabinet. She started to reach inside when her second thoughts yanked her hand back and she shuddered. This was, her thoughts reminded her, very much like the high security, official secrets drawer in Papa's office she had reached into. That episode had ended very, very badly and messily. Gabrielle decided to find something to test the opening with first, and, if possible, something to put in her ears.

Candle stubs provided the answer for both needs. The candles were very short, but Gabrielle was happy to see her wand was able to relight them. Four candles connected with melted wax looked to be long enough, and warm wax rolled into a ball for her ears helped to deaden the door's racket. Gabrielle poked her wax probe into the gap, far enough to nudge a stoppered bottle. Nothing seemed to happen. If I knew what was in the bottle I could try to summon it, considered Gabrielle as she tried to come up with a way to use her wand again. She was a proper witch, after all.

In the end, there seemed no way forward except to reach in, which Gabrielle did with her eyes tightly closed using her left hand. She grasped the bottle she had poked, and pulled it out. Nothing had happened to her as far as she could tell, so she put the bottle on a desk and started to empty the cabinet.

Gabrielle could only get seven bottles of various colored liquids out as the other bottles and jars were too wide for the opening between the wedged books. That did not stop her long because she had the magic box from George. She took her puffskein's cage out of the box first for safety, then wrapped her denims around his, or her, cage to dampen the noise. The loud clattering really seemed to bother Pepi, which was odd since he did not appear to have ears. She would have to hurry.

All told, the cabinet only had sixteen jars and bottles in it. That was a little disappointing. It was not even a whole galleon. At least now she could stop the stupid cabinet from making so much noise, which she did by yanking out the top books. The door and its glass panes flexed freely, and quietly. There was some scorching on the books on the sides touched by the yellow flickering. A chagrined Gabrielle put the books back into the stack where she had found them, but in the middle. Gabrielle uncovered Pepi's little cage to check on him. She took him out to soothe the red ball of fur, then looked between the empty cage, the puffskein, and the jars. An idea formed in her head, and a grin formed on her lips. Fred would pay.

Gabrielle put her pet back into the little cage, and started emptying out any of the jars that held dry ingredients. One jar had six blue feathers in it. With the lid, feathers, and jar all spread out, one sickle becomes eight, thought Gabrielle. She helpfully arranged the beetle carapaces from the biggest container into rows of ten, and giggled. With the scraps of bark from the last jar, there were a more satisfying one hundred and seventy-six objects. Gabrielle could not help but laugh in anticipation.

"How's it going in there?" knocked George.

"Yeah Gigi, what in Godric's name was that ruckus?" demanded Fred.

"Please, give me, eh, a few minutes more," called Gabrielle. It was time to hide the evidence. The door closed with authority when she pulled out the other textbooks, and the pins went back into the hinges nicely. Gabrielle had rubbed some of the candle wax on them like Philippe would. She went to the door to open it, but could hear the twins talking. Maman said it was rude to interrupt, so Gabrielle put her ear to the door to wait for a break in their conversation.

"...know she's just trying to pull one over on us. we'll go in there and she'll pretend to be stunned or knocked out," complained Fred. "She won't have touched it."

"Come off it. She isn't like that. Didn't she take Pickle's wand twice today?" reminded George. "What about the noise too? It was like those muggle chaining saws."

"That's nothing. You make noises like that whenever you sleep," declared Fred. "You just want to go easy on her. She's got you wrapped around her little finger."

"Don't start that shite again. Anyway, I'm not the one who jumps to obey every time she smiles, oh confunded one."

"That's bollocks," retorted Fred.

"Oh yes? She took the Mighty Pranker from you. No, my mistake, you handed the Mighty Pranker right over. I believe you had this theory about the weak-minded?"

"I've got another about wankers who blather," snapped Fred. Gabrielle decided that this was a break in the conversation. It was turning into an argument.

"You can come in now," called Gabrielle. She opened the door, then sheepishly remembered that she had not put her denims back on. George and Fred squeezed through the door at the same time. George looked her over. Gabrielle turned in place for him and willed her legs not to look so knobby.

"Merlin's bits," whispered Fred. "She did it." George spun around.

"I have one hundred and seventy-six items," announced Gabrielle proudly. "See?" she spread her arms out in front of the cabinet's former contents.

"Oy! That's cheating. You just dumped out the jars," frowned Fred.

"No. Zat, eh, is why it took, eh, so long," lied Gabrielle. "I had to take zem out, eh, one at a time."

"She got you, brother mine," crowed George breaking out into laughter. "You said a sickle for every object, not every full jar."

"I'm not paying a sickle apiece for rhinoceros beetle shells," said Fred sourly. He is a sore loser, thought Gabrielle. She smiled, since that meant she won. Ha!

"Yeah, you are," said George forcefully. "A deal is a deal. Anyway, you're missing the snitch among the bludgers. Again."

"How so?"

"Those are jobberknoll feathers, and there are - six - of them. You could give her double what you owe and we still come out way ahead."

"Can I keep ze wand too zen?" blurted Gabrielle.

"What? No. Not really mine to give," said Fred.

"It is from Verity?" guessed Gabrielle. Fred's face answered for him. A face, noticed Gabrielle, that had yet to see Madame Pomfrey. "Can I ask her zen?"

"Let her, Fred. The wand chooses the witch, right?" said George. He fished around under his shirt for, Gabrielle supposed, more of the boxes. "Why don't you help Fred with the burn salve, Gabrielle? I'll get the stuff packed away."

v - v - v - v - v

Madame Pomfrey was not at Hogwarts, it turned out. Fred had gotten into her supplies anyway. Gabrielle was covering the blistered side of his face with a thick orange paste. The unction for bruises had already reopened his swollen eye. She would have been done, but Fred had gotten over losing ten galleons and six sickles to her and was talking animatedly to George about the contents of the various bottles. Fred was ecstatic over the erumpent fluid, while George could hardly contain himself over what looked like a handful of rocks in oil. Gabrielle turned down the offer of the beetle parts made by Fred, and George's offering of the dragon spleen - in ichor, George had emphasized.

Once Fred's face was treated and he looked more or less normal, Gabrielle ordered the twins to turn around so she could put the denims back on.

"Forget that," said Fred. "Show us that spell you used."

"What?" asked Gabrielle, taken aback.

"We went at it for weeks and tried everything we could find," explained Fred. "We can not leave without knowing it. Right George?"

"It would be really helpful," said George, nodding.

Gabrielle wondered if one of the stoppers had come out and the fumes had made them lose their senses. Did they really expect her to undress and show them the spell? Never mind that the spell did not exist. Although, her second thoughts pointed out, wasn't that what you wanted before?

"One of us could shut his eyes while the other, uh, disillusioned you after you were undressed. Then, the one who closed his eyes could obliviate the other," suggested George.

Fred just rolled his eyes. "How would we see what she's doing if she's disillusioned?"

"Hmm... we could, er, do a paint charm on her arms and legs," added George.

"We'll just get starkers too," announced Fred. He pulled his shirt over his head. "If we're all naked then no one will be embarrassed." I don't see how that follows at all, thought Gabrielle. It seemed to make sense to George though, and he started undressing as well.

Gabrielle stood confused. Why were they doing this? Would they really get undressed right in front of her? Were they bluffing her like she had done to them? Should she stop them, or listen to the little voice in her head that was repeating 'comparative anatomy?' Should she get undressed too? Gabrielle could feel her face heat up, and she knew she should not be staring at George's chest like that. She jerked when she found her hands toying with the hem of her jumper as George pushed his trousers down, revealing plaid pants. "Stop!"

"What's the matter Gigi?" smirked Fred. "Am I too awesome a vision to behold?"

"Eh... I... It... Eh..." stammered Gabrielle.

"Do you want me to leave, luv?" asked George quietly.

"No!" blurted Gabrielle. Fred perhaps, a stray thought suggested. What was she supposed to do now? "Eh, I... Zere is no Veela spell! I, eh, did not open ze lock," Gabrielle admitted to her shoes.

"How did you get into the cabinet then?" asked George gently.

"Ze hinges," replied Gabrielle miserably. She would not look into George's eyes in case they were full of disappointment. She could look at his calves though. Her second thoughts were pointing out that nothing would be different if she had waited just a little longer, except the view.

"The hinges?" asked Fred. He went over to the empty cabinet. "What about them?"

"I, eh, took zem apart," replied Gabrielle.

"Cor, that's brilliant," breathed George. His tone made Gabrielle look up to see him grinning.

"Hmmph," huffed Fred, sounding annoyed. At her, wondered Gabrielle, or the cabinet? "_Waddiwasi. Waddiwasi. Waddiwasi._" He tapped each hinge with his wand and the pins flew out and ricocheted around the room. "Now what?"

"Pull ze door open by ze hinges," shrugged Gabrielle. When Fred did the yellow filaments came back. The door slammed shut with a bang when he released it in surprise.

"All right there Fred?" snorted George. Fred didn't answer, but pulled the door open again wider than Gabrielle was able to. He stuck his arm into the gap, then pulled it out shaking his head.

"What was all that noise about?" asked Fred. He let the door slam shut with a reverberating crash.

"I used books to, eh, keep ze door open," explained Gabrielle. She picked out the books she had used, and pointed out the scorching. Gabrielle was feeling a lot better now. Far from thinking she was a failure of a witch, George and Fred seemed to think this was a clever trick. Gabrielle explained how she used the books to hold the cabinet open, how she tried the silencio spell, and how she used the candle stubs to test if it was safe. She felt even better when George corrected her wand movements on the spell, which they practiced when Fred was toying with propping the door open. Fred found that by using the legs of a chair in place of the books, and by levering the door more open or more closed with the chair, that he could get, if one were charitable, different notes to play. Gabrielle still could not silence the racket, but it was definitely quieter after her casting. It was a little hard to concentrate when George stood close behind her. If Maman ever found out how they were dressed, or undressed, thought Gabrielle, losing Beauxbatons would be the least problem.

v - v - v - v - v

This has been, thought Gabrielle as they walked up to the Burrow, the best day ever. It even beat the day the letter from school arrived, because that day had had some Aunt Laurel in it. She had beautiful new gloves from George, ten shiny galleons from Fred, and her very own wand.

They had gone to Hogsmeade for lunch, at a place called the Three Broomsticks. The place was very empty, and run by a woman named Rosmerta. The brothers explained that she had been put under the Imperious curse and used in the plot to murder Dumbledore. Her business had really tailed off as a result. George and Fred made a big show of greeting her and showing their support. Gabrielle insisted on buying the lunch, which George and Fred insisted be one of each kind of dessert. They had Spotted Dick, Merlin's Whiskers, Trifle, and ice creams. George and Fred washed it all down with several butterbeers each. Gabrielle had a warm, mulled butterbeer but would have really preferred some muggle coffee. While they ate their sticky lunch, Gabrielle admitted that she had learned the hinge trick from Philippe. The twins were impressed by his observations of wizard behavior, saying that her friend was just the kind of man they were looking for, if he only had a car. With the butterbeers in them the brothers were more jovial than ever. Fred even said that she could keep the wand. That was nice, but Gabrielle really would have liked to have had the same lunch with George alone. At a small table, perhaps, in the corner where they could hold hands, talk of the silly things of the day, and, maybe, talk of a future.

The three reached the Burrow, and the front door slammed open to reveal Mrs. Weasley. "Where have you been?" she asked in a low, shaky voice. Gabrielle had been lost in her daydream, and stopped short at the sight of Mrs. Weasley looking like a lion about to pounce. She glanced at George. Or, rather, would have glanced at him if he had been there. Gabrielle looked about in confusion - the twins had been right next to her. "Where. Have. You. Been?" repeated the matron.

"Eh, Hogwarts?" answered Gabrielle uncertainly, even though it was not a lie.

"Oh really? Why?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes. Eh, Madame Pomfrey..." started Gabrielle until Mrs. Weasley stepped to one side. There in entry hall stood Madame Pomfrey, who gave Gabrielle a cheery wave before turning back to Alastor Moody. The color drained from Gabrielle's face and she gave out a strangled gasp of horror.

"You were not helping Madame Pomfrey. Where did you go?" demanded Mrs. Weasley.

"Hog-Hogwarts! It is true!" replied Gabrielle. "You can ask Professor 'Agrid."

"We are responsible for your safety. You lied to me." accused Mrs. Weasley who was turning redder.

"No! It was, eh, it was non sequiturs," asserted Gabrielle. This was not going well. Where was George? And Fred.

"What?"

"Zey, zey, zey are not lies. Eh, it is a kind of trick."

Mrs. Weasley's outrage and anger exploded in a torrent of shame and guilt for Gabrielle. That was probably the wrong thing to say, Gabrielle's second thought's noted. Telling someone you tricked them does not make them feel better.

Gabrielle had been on the receiving end of many tongue-lashings. She had figured out that they were simply preludes to the eventual punishment. Fleur would belittle and embarrass her, and her tirades were long and followed by a hex, or the ranting went even longer while Fleur plotted a way to provoke Maman. Maman would make her feel like a stupid little girl. The amount of counting she did would indicate how many privileges would be lost. It was very rare for Papa to berate her, and usually much worse. He would say the same things as Maman, except the pain in his voice would make her ashamed and miserable. It would always be followed by Papa using the switch.

Mrs. Weasley was like a combination of Maman and Papa, but far more intense. The complaints and accusations that boiled out of her seemed to fill the air, buzzing around Gabrielle's head like angry bees. Mrs. Weasley put a lot into her dressing-down. It was making Gabrielle feel pretty miserable about the poor way she had used Mrs. Weasley's trust and how bad her judgement had been. That was the point, Gabrielle supposed. At the same time, it perversely kindled a bit of optimism in her. Perhaps there would be no additional punishments.

That was not to be. Mrs. Weasley pulled her to the bottom of the stairs by her collar and announced that Gabrielle would have to return all the clothes from the attic.

"What?!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "Why?"

"I quite agree that you seem to be forgetting how you were raised, young lady. I'll not have you family believe we allowed that," replied Mrs. Weasley severely.

"Mais, mais - 'G' is for Gabrielle," wailed Gabrielle. It was not much of an argument. Her second thoughts noted that the Weasley mother had said she agreed. Gabrielle looked past the stern Mrs. Weasley to see Fleur smirking in the corner of the landing. Of course, thought Gabrielle. Why would the scourge of her life not be at work here?

v - v - v - v - v

A sullen Gabrielle lay in seclusion under the table behind the sofa, in one of the ugly little-girl dresses she so hated. She had almost convinced Mrs. Weasley that she needed a few of Ginny's old things because she had inadvertently not brought enough to wear. That was not really an untruth because Fleur had unpacked what she had intended to bring. Fleur, enjoying Gabrielle's discomfort, then so helpfully found the dresses stashed beneath the bed. Mrs. Weasley's feelings of betrayal were renewed, and she took everything. Everything that she could find, at least. The quidditch jersey had disappeared under Ginny's pillow during the first chaotic moments. Gabrielle was pretty sure it was still there, and that Ginny could stay in the coven.

The area behind the sofa was noticeably cleaner than it had been. That was the result of the plague of house-elves. The elves were a little hard to distinguish, excepting Dobby, but Gabrielle was sure there were at least six of them. One or two seemed to trail Mrs. Weasley at all times. They pestered her even while Mrs. Weasley removed all fashion from Gabrielle's trunk. The elves would periodically sweep the entry hall and dust down the sitting room, giggling like it was some secret joke. That had happened twice in the half hour, and when the tables for the wedding meal passed through the elves, almost joyfully, swept again.

The excessive sweeping probably also explained why Gabrielle was not actually completely alone behind the sofa. Crookshanks sat with his tail curled around his paws near the opening, staring at her as if waiting for her to do something interesting. Gabrielle could not shoo him away. She had tried, and the cat had hissed so viciously that the hairs on the back of her neck had gone up in fright. Gabrielle could have used her wand on him, but where was she to carry it in this ridiculous dress? She would have to find a way to use a muggle springy pin thing to attach her little wand. Crookshanks was also blocking much of the old family clock she used to see into the entry hall. It seemed to have started working again; at least the hands were pointing in different directions. The only hand that she could see move was the one marked Charlie. It constantly drifted between 'at work' and 'in trouble'.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape stepped from the floo in the Leaky Cauldron, dusted the soot from his cloak, and walked casually through the tavern. The cloak was so old it had faded from its original black to various shades of dark gray. He kept the hood up and his face hidden, but did not scurry from shadow to shadow. He was not hiding. He was not being noticed, an important and more useful skill.

Once on Diagon Alley, Snape walked confidently to his destination. He stopped briefly before Eeylops. Snape held out dim hope that the snake that held the Dark Lord's... essence, he supposed, would succumb before Bellatrix was finally prepared to fetch the tonic. She was unaccustomed to not being noticed. It would be easy to purchase the necessary elixir right now, but, thought Snape, there was a good chance Bella would fail on the first attempt. Anything that bought him more time to triangulate his and the Ministry's positions could only be a benefit.

Treachery and politics were, thought Snape, his lip curling slightly, just a matter of degree. He was, Snape knew, one of the most wanted wizards in Britain. Yet the circumstances of his crimes left some latitude for different interpretations, and they were seen by few credible witnesses. Thankfully, and ironically, the key to unravelling the current mess was the soft-headed and easily manipulated Potter. The former professor had to bite back bile at the thought of relying on the boy. It helped to see it as using Potter's endless supply of luck to his own gain rather than counting on there being skill and knowledge behind that scar. So he would send Potter the silver dagger, helpfully engraved with instructions on where to stab the werewolf, and leave it at that. Snape would just assume he would be rid of Frenrir. He would send along Weasley's wand with a brief outline of the clerk's demise. Snape would assume that Potter would distance himself from the Ministry and seek a meeting. That meeting would let Snape put events in a different light, and cast doubt. Was this, considered Snape, how the Headmaster had handled Potter?

Snape pushed open the door to the quidditch supplies shop. If Potter came to Diagon Alley, then he was sure to come here. Playing to the vain quidditch hero was easy; so like his father, thought Snape sourly. He stepped to the counter.

"What can I do you for, Mister - ?" greeted the wizard behind the counter. Snape noticed he still held the knife he used to trim bristles on the brooms.

"I am not here," said Snape, pitching his voice higher. Snape slipped the securely wrapped package onto the counter. He flipped it over to hide the Chudley Cannons logo, as if feeling the need to suddenly be discreet. The wizard watched warily.

"Come again? I don't mean to be casting aspersions on anyone's abilities, sir, but I think you might find, if you avail yourself of the mirror just there, that your disillusion is not up to snuff," the wizard said breaking into a crooked smile. "People do find it helpful not to speak, as well."

Snape ignored that. "You know the Gryffindor seeker? See that he gets this," said Snape quietly, gesturing at the package.

"Potter?" asked the wizard. Snape waved at him to quiet his voice. "'Course I know him. The kid's got quick eyes, fearless on a broom, even - hey! Are you..."

"I am not here," said Snape again.

"You are, aren't you? I seen it right off. This is tampering, that's what it is. Clubs are not to contact students until after N.E.W.T.s are over, you know that."

The hooded Snape reached into his cloak and placed a stack of twenty galleons on top of the parcel. "See that he gets it," repeated Snape.

The wizard behind the counter glanced quickly around the shop, and then reached for the coins. "Long-time Cannons fan meself. 'Don't suppose there's much harm in it, the club could do with a leg up, eh what? If Potter comes in, I'll pass it along. All right, Mister-?"

"I am not here," repeated Snape. That got him a wink and a nod from the counter-wizard as the package was tucked away behind the display case.

v - v - v - v - v

The problem with the Burrow, thought Gabrielle, is that were not many places for her to hide in. Under the table behind the sofa was no longer a place to have some time alone. The house-elves had discovered her and Crookshanks. They repeatedly poked their heads between the gap around the clock to greet her, then their feather-dusters. Crookshanks had retreated further into the recess, climbing onto her. He was quite a fat cat, noted Gabrielle. He had clawed himself a comfortable spot on her back. Gabrielle hoped his claws had really done as much damage to the dress as it felt like he had. However, it was only after Fleur had sat down on the sofa to express her satisfaction that Gabrielle would again be properly dressed and started to lecture on proper behavior that Gabrielle decided to abandon the spot. Of course, that meant finding another location. Ginny had mentioned something about the twins moving around the Burrow secretly. Gabrielle wished that George was there so she could ask about it. She also wished that he was there so she could give him an earful for leaving and letting her take all the blame. At the same time, she desperately did not want George to see her wearing these horrid dresses that made her feel like a child.

In the end, there was no place to go but to the room she shared with Ginny. Hopefully Ginny would be asleep again. Gabrielle could slip in, tuck under the bed, and pull the sheets lower down the sides. That would give her plenty of privacy to sulk.

As Gabrielle walked down the hall to the bedroom, a house-elf followed behind her sweeping. This felt somewhat insulting, as if she was leaving a trail of filth as she walked. When she arrived in front of Ginny's door she was quite relieved to see it was not spelled again. Gabrielle pushed her way in, quickly closing the door behind her so the house-elf did not follow.

Ginny, to Gabrielle's disappointment, was not asleep. Ginny had been leaning out of the window when Gabrielle came in, and startled and pulled back quickly, hitting her head on the window frame.

"Ah ow!" hissed Ginny. Rubbing her head she turned guiltily, and her relief was obvious when she saw Gabrielle, "Oh, er, hello again Effy."

"Gabrielle," reminded Gabrielle. She was in no mood for an argument though. If it were her, she would move something in front of the door and claim she was cleaning. Maman never told her not to clean. "I want to be alone," she declared in her best haughty voice. That effect was then spoiled by her squirming under the bed. That was awkward in the first place, doubly so with the dress. She could hear Ginny giggling.

"Uh, I'd better go Gin." Predictably, thought Gabrielle, that was Harry's voice.

"No, you can stay a bit longer. It was only Effy," said Ginny. Hmmph, thought Gabrielle, only indeed. There wasn't talk after that, and Gabrielle could guess what they were up to.

Gabrielle was just wishing she had taken her pillow under the bed when there was a knock at the door, which was followed by a thud as Ginny's head apparently hit the window frame again. This time it was Gabrielle's turn to giggle, albeit into her hand.

"Damn," muttered Ginny. "Who is it?" she called louder.

"It's me," replied Hermione's muffled voice.

Ginny sighed and Gabrielle could see her feet as she crossed the room to open the door. Hermione closed it behind her.

"I wanted to talk to Harry," announced Hermione.

"Well he's not here," replied Ginny quickly. There was silence after this. Gabrielle could not see very much, so she slithered forward to peek around the sheets, and came face-to-face with Crookshanks. "What?" asked Ginny defensively.

"I want to talk with Harry," repeated Hermione. Crookshanks settled under the bed, blocking Gabrielle's view, and his twitching tail smacked her face. She felt that that was no accident.

"What makes you think he's around here?" asked Ginny shrilly. More silence. "Fine," huffed Ginny.

"Er, hullo Hermione," said Harry. "I just wanted to, er, check on Ginny."

"Good thing, too. Her lips are looking swollen, her hair is a mess, and she seems a bit fevered," snorted Hermione. Ginny growled. Crookshanks growled also when Gabrielle tried to slide him

over.

"All right. How did you know I was here anyway?" asked Harry.

"My room has a window. I suppose I should point out that there are -other - windows on this side of the Burrow as well," replied Hermione.

"Er, right. Thanks. I think," muttered Harry. "What was it you wanted?"

"I wanted to talk about R.A.B."


	18. Something Found

Chapter Eighteen - Something Found

"You found something?" asked Harry interestedly.

"It's a possibility at any rate," replied Hermione. "The time-frame is right, and the circumstances are right too. That's not actual evidence, but it is a lead."

"Go on," encouraged Harry.

"We checked into it yesterday," said Ginny, "but with everything that happened..."

"So who is it?"

"Harry, it's Sirius' brother: Regulus Arcturus Black," said Ginny.

"He was a Death Eater. He could have known," added Hermione. "Regulus also tried to leave Voldemort's ranks. Sirius said Voldemort himself went after Regulus. Perhaps - He - knew that Regulus knew too much." In the silence that followed, Gabrielle tried to scoot forward to see around Crookshanks. She was wondering if Harry was in the room or not. Crookshanks responded by laying on his side and stretching out to block more of the opening. What had she ever done to the cat? "And, Harry," continued Hermione, "do you remember in Grimmauld Place there -"

"That locket," interrupted Harry. "I remember. It didn't look like the one in the pensieve."

"The locket? What about the locket?" asked Ginny.

"We never checked for transfigurations or spells disguising it," Hermione pointed out.

Gabrielle could hear someone pacing. Perhaps Harry was in the room now. She wondered if Hermione had spelled the door. At least she was hidden if Mrs. Weasley burst in.

"Do... do you think..?" asked Ginny shakily.

"It'd be hard to believe. I don't think anyone in the Order has been to Grimmauld Place since that night, but Kreacher should be able to find it," said Harry. He was speaking more loudly now. Gabrielle expected disaster.

"It's not there," said Ginny suddenly.

"Bloody Mundungus! I should have strangled that damn thief. The locket could be anywhere by now - even in muggle hands," exploded Harry. "When I catch up with that bastard, I'll... I'll -"

"No! It's here!" blurted Ginny.

"What?" asked Harry and Hermione at the same time.

"I... I have the locket Harry," declared Ginny. "I asked Sirius if I could have it. I don't know why! I just wanted it." added Ginny in a rush. This admission fell into a stunned silence. Was she, listened Gabrielle, crying? It seemed to interest Crookshanks too. His head came up and his ears pricked.

Harry spoke first, "You, you... you don't, er, wear it, do you?" His voice was quiet and strained. Gabrielle wondered if he was angry. She couldn't see why he would be. He wasn't the locket-wearing type in Gabrielle's opinion. I wonder, thought Gabrielle, if George is?

"No - it's too ugly," said Ginny with a nervous giggle. "But, but I do put in on every once in a while to see if it, uh, goes with anything." Gabrielle had something like that. Before he died, her maternal Grandpere had made her an amulet. He told her that it was magic, her Grandmere told her that he was senile, and Fleur told her that it was ugly. Gabrielle wore it for a while, especially after he died, but then not very often. It was, in fact, not very pretty, but she would keep it forever because of who made it.

No one spoke again for a long moment, and Crookshanks seemed preoccupied, so Gabrielle slowly inched her way closer to the gap between sheet and bed-frame. She could see Harry's trainers - he was in the room. Gabrielle decided that this was a very poor vantage point, because she couldn't really see anything beyond shoes. She considered that if she faced the other way, she might be able to see more reflected in the mirror of the vanity. Was it possible, wondered Gabrielle, to turn around under the bed and remain undetected?

Hermione finally spoke, "Well there's no reason now to be distraught. We can't be sure it's Slytherin's locket. If it isn't, it cost us nothing to find out. If it is, well, hurrah for our side. Where is it?" Ginny must have pointed, thought Gabrielle, as Hermione stepped over to the vanity. There was a tinkling.

"All right," said Harry releasing a held breath. "What should we do with it?"

"We'll start with some simple revealing spells, and work our way up," decided Hermione.

"Er, by we, do you mean..?" hinted Harry. Gabrielle heard Hermione sigh loudly.

"Yes. By we, I mean I will do the spells while you watch."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle had determined that she could not quite reverse her position since the bed was just low enough that her hips and shoulders caught. She had also determined that the house-elves had not been under the bed yet. She was becoming quite dirty. If Harry and Hermione would leave, she could slide out and change positions. Although if the two left there would be nothing to watch, really. She would be able to get something to put her head on at least. Not her pillow, though. It was too dusty for that.

It did not seem like Harry and Hermione were in any hurry to leave. Hermione knew a lot of spells, and was happy to describe these and where she had learned them if asked. Sometimes she explained the charms without prompting. Gabrielle wished once more that she could see, and that she had a quill and some parchment. Some of the spells Hermione used could be very helpful in recovering her things if Maman seized them. Not, of course, that she would be able to use her little wand at home right away, but it was good to be prepared. Harry was probably only paying scant attention to the busy witch. He and Ginny whispered to each other quite a bit and, since Gabrielle could not see their feet anymore, were probably sitting on Ginny's bed. That seemed imprudent to Gabrielle. Gabrielle could not imagine Mrs. Weasley's rage if she found the two on the same bed. Ginny was still pretty upset, however, and was probably not thinking clearly. A weepy Ginny whispered about a diary to Harry, and how she should have known the locket was like it. Gabrielle could not decipher the meaning behind Ginny's worry that she only wanted things with bits of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named in them. After all, wondered Gabrielle, was the diary's paper made from His hair or something? Harry asked if Ginny had a favorite cup, which made no sense to Gabrielle, but it made Ginny cry and laugh at the same time.

"Well, that's it then," said Hermione in exasperation.

"It's not Slytherin's locket?" snuffled Ginny. Gabrielle could hear the relief in her voice.

"I can't be sure either way. There's something about it. Here, watch," ordered Hermione. "_Verofacieum!_ There, did you see that?"

"See what?" asked Ginny.

"I saw it. There was a little flash, just like on a snitch before it changes direction," said Harry.

"What?" exclaimed Ginny.

"There was a flash, right up near the catch," repeated Harry.

"No, what did you mean by 'like on a snitch before it changes directions?'" I guess quidditch is more interesting than the locket, thought Gabrielle.

"Er, just that. You can see a tiny flash right before it turns. It can be hard to see unless you're close, or if you are flying into the sun," explained Harry.

"I've never seen that," said Ginny sounding annoyed. "What about you Hermione?" Ginny seemed to be feeling better, noted Gabrielle.

"I can't say I've been close enough to a snitch to notice," replied Hermione. "I can write Viktor, perhaps, and ask him if he has seen that. Right now I think the locket may be a little bit more important than quidditch, yes?" There was no immediate answer to her question, and Hermione sighed.

"You're right of course," said Harry quickly. "What do you think we should do now?"

"I've tried everything I know," replied Hermione. "Other than getting a hint that there's something hidden, I can't go much further. It would possibly help if we knew who did the hiding, since we may be able to work out what kind of spell was used."

"Don't we know that? I mean, it's obviously Voldemort, right?" He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Except-At-The-Weasley's, thought Gabrielle.

"That's one possibility, yes. But, it was supposed to be protected in that cave. Why would - He - need it disguised? It may be that Regulus, assuming he is R.A.B., disguised it so Voldemort couldn't find it. Another possibility is that this is not the locket we want at all, and the enchantment is much older."

"Er, then, uh -" began Harry.

"We need Ron," declared Hermione. Ginny snorted. "He practically gave us the answer to R.A.B.," Hermione added crossly. "Oh, shut up!"

"I wasn't going to say anything," claimed Harry defensively. "Uh, can you watch out for Mrs. Weasley? I shouldn't, er, be here, obviously."

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione returned with Ron in short order. Gabrielle suspected that it would not ever be hard to find Ron. He would be asleep or in the kitchen. Gabrielle also concluded that underneath her bed was definitely not a good place for some privacy. It was not very roomy, so she could not change positions to get comfortable. It was rather dark too, so if she had a book she would not have been able to read it. Finally, it might be her imagination, but the dust seemed to be attracted to her. Certainly Crookshank's tail was working to move the fuzzy clumps to her.

The bed above her shook, and Ron's voice came from above. "Oy, mate. Where have you been hiding this morning? You missed me trouncing the twins."

"Harry's in Mum's crup house," said Ginny.

"Blimey. I don't want to know what you did then. Mum's always had a soft spot for you." Gabrielle realized with annoyance that Ron was on her nice, clean bed. The bed creaked again as Hermione joined Ron. "Well isn't this cozy?" asked Ron.

"Yes," said Hermione. "It is." Other than the rustling above and the sounds of kissing, the room went quiet. Gabrielle really hoped things did not get out of hand with the couples. That would be so gross.

"Ron," said Hermione in a way that was clearly a warning. That was followed soon afterwards by a slapping sound. "Watch that hand, Ronald."

"Why?" whispered Ron. "It knows what it's doing."

"That's not why we're here," stated Hermione.

"There's a pity. It's my favorite bit too."

"Is it really?" asked Hermione.

"Well, along with this bit and - here," whispered Ron huskily. There was a sharp intake of breath from Hermione and several slaps.

"You're incorrigible," declared Hermione.

"Am I?" asked Ron proudly.

"Can you two snog more quietly please?" requested Ginny.

"It is not a good thing, Ron," noted Hermione.

"Oh, er, right. Sorry," said an abashed Ron.

"You don't see Harry behaving like that," chided Hermione softly.

"I try not to look! Besides, I'd thump him round the ears if he tried that," replied Ron.

"Oh you would, would you?" demanded Ginny heatedly.

"Er, don't I? Some blokes can get out of hand you know," Ron informed his sister.

"You bloody hypocrite!" snapped Ginny. "The way you're pawing Hermione over there, then you tell me -"

"Leave it for now, Gin," interrupted Harry with a sigh. Ginny growled unhappily. "Let's get this locket figured out now."

"What locket?" asked Ron.

v - v - v - v - v

Once the revelation of R.A.B. and the story of the locket had been repeated, once Ron's panic over Ginny's actions had been calmed, and once more of the snogging happened, the teens started to discuss the locket. Gabrielle was becoming very curious about the snogging. She thought kissing George was fun, even if he didn't seem to appreciate it himself, but could she do it for what seemed like hours at a time? The book from her Grandmere did not mention kissing much except as part of flirting to win the warrior to one's side. Gabrielle supposed it was easier to do than the devotions, which still unsettled her when the images came to mind.

"So, Ron, what should we do?" asked Ginny bluntly.

"How should I know?" replied Ron.

"Hermione said your vast wisdom would lead us through the fog of our thoughts to the solution gilded in sunlight," announced Ginny airily. 'That's why she went for you."

"I never said that," snapped Hermione.

"It wasn't for the - ? Right, right. Um, what was the question again?" asked Ron.

"What spell is on the locket is the question, Ron," said Harry.

"Does it matter? We can pack it off to Charlie and let one of his dragons melt it down. Remember ol' Norbert? Charlie says he's really coming into his own now and -"

"We can't destroy it until we know it's the right one," interrupted Harry. "We have to be sure."

"Er, yeah. I mean, obviously," muttered Ron. Gabrielle felt the others were being unfair to him, even though it was Ron.

"What we need to work out is who might have cast the spell on the locket," explained Hermione. "We might then be able to work out something about the spell used."

"You mean like if the wizard had a speech impediment?" suggested Ron. There was an embarrassed silence, broken by Ginny's giggling.

"Actually -" started Harry.

"No, Ron. Different wizards might favor different types of spells," said Hermione. Gabrielle recognized the tone of voice Hermione used. It was the same one Fleur used when Fleur's friends asked who Gabrielle was, sort of a mix between aggrieved and embarrassed.

"The dreaded lisping wizards of Glasgow not involved then?" asked Ginny with a snort.

"You know, there might be something -" tried Harry again.

"You can be such a cow sometimes, Ginny," accused Hermione.

"I was just thinking," said Ron, eliciting an exclamation of disbelieve from Ginny, "of something more Slytherin inspired. Like.. SssFinsssite Sssincassstassstum." This brought peals of laughter from Ginny. Gabrielle had to smother hers with her hand.

"Please, Ron. Stop," begged Hermione quietly. What, wondered Gabrielle again, did she see in him? Was it the pickle?

"No, Ron. Not like a snake - in snake language." This was from Harry, who had gotten up and was pacing again. "If it was Voldemort, then what if he could cast a spell in parseltongue? That would make sense with it being Slytherin's locket." He stopped pacing.

"Well," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"I remember in the pensieve Gaunt duelling a Ministry wizard, but I couldn't tell you if he used parseltongue," continued Harry.

"Why not just give it a go?" prompted Ron.

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Can you teach me that spell you used earlier Hermione?" Gabrielle heard only a huff in response. "Er, I mean, can you revise with me that spell we learned in, er, McGonagall's class last term. I'm a little out of practice on it."

"Honestly, you boys are hopeless," declared Hermione.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle discovered that she could get Crookshanks to move. She just had to scratch the back of his neck just a little lower than a certain location, and the cat would shift himself back to get her fingers on the right spot. She could now see, well, more shoes.

Harry practiced the spell. It was supposed to momentarily reveal an object's true form, if the object had been transfigured. Ron tried casting it too. Gabrielle suspected he was more interested in attention from Hermione than the spell. Gabrielle also wondered if Hermione would be able to help her with the summoning spell.

"I think you've got it Harry," said Hermione after dozens of attempts. "You could reveal anything I might have transfigured, at any rate."

"All right. Now I just need a snake," said Harry. Gabrielle wasn't sure she had heard that correctly. "_Serpensortia!_" boomed Harry.

There was a sound like leather being hit, then the room exploded in hisses. Gabrielle could see the coils of the huge snake that had appeared. It looked as thick as her leg! Crookshanks bristled, hissed, and bolted from beneath the bed. Perhaps startled by the cat's flight, the snake, patterned with green and black, reared up with a loud hiss of its own. Then Harry began hissing as well, which was so creepy the hairs on Gabrielle's neck went up. That would have happened anyway, Gabrielle realized, as she was trapped under the bed and the snake was shifting closer. Ginny's shout covered her own squeal of terror.

Just as suddenly as it appeared, the serpent was gone in a wisp of smoke. Hermione had vanished it, and was now taking deep breaths. "Merlin, Harry," she said unsteadily. "How about trying for something that leaves room for the rest of us?"

"Er, sorry, sorry," apologized Harry. "I, er, never tried that before."

"You need to add some qualifiers to the incantation Harry. Innoxus for one comes to mind. Perhaps minimus, too - What - is so funny, Ron?" said Hermione turning annoyed.

Ron, who had started snickering shortly after the snake was vanished, took a deep breath. "We all figured Harry's 'snake' would be bigger than Draco's," he said in a rush before bursting into laughter at his own joke. Ron laughed by himself at first, until Ginny and then Harry joined in. Gabrielle could hear Hermione tsk in exasperation.

"Sorry," coughed Harry. "Ahem, sorry. Let's have another go. _Innoxus Serpensortia Minimus_." Gabrielle could see the entire snake this time. It was so cute. The snake conjured was bright green and no longer than her hands. Gabrielle thought it looked so scared and lonely in the middle of the floor. Ron roared his laughter, which Gabrielle felt was being rude to the poor creature. Not as rude as Hermione, though, who vanished this snake as well.

"Try it just with the innoxus this time. And gently," ordered Hermione.

"What was wrong with that last one?" asked Harry.

"Oh, er, nothing I suppose. It's just the look of the thing, really," replied Hermione. "You'd look like Beebee and her puffskein with that little snake." What, thought Gabrielle, did she have against Pepi?

"If you, um, say so. This is the last one, all right? I want to get back to the locket," said Harry. "_Innoxus Serpensortia._"

The latest snake to come into existence in the room was easily as long as Gabrielle's arm and a dark greenish-brown in color. It coiled itself in the middle of the room before making a break for the shelter of the bed, her bed. Gabrielle pushed herself backwards away from the snake's path and further beneath the bed. The reptile stopped suddenly when Harry began the eerie hissing again. It just sounded so wrong to Gabrielle's ears. She couldn't tell if it was the snake's approach or Harry that set her nerves jangling. The snake disappeared from view when Harry scooped it up.

"How does this look, Hermione? Magical enough to be getting on with it?" asked Harry.

"You don't need to be like that. And yes, it does look more proper," answered Hermione.

"Robes would help give the right, er, flavor," added Ginny. "Dark blue robes, with boots. Leather, of -"

"It's not a bleeding pageant," complained Ron.

"Ron's right. Let's see if it works," said Hermione.

"You could do a quick transfiguration of his shirt and shoes," suggested Ginny wistfully.

"Does it really matter?" asked Harry.

"Well... I suppose it is a bit like ritual magic, the Old Magic, where the sum of the elements is more than each of the parts. Magic turns on intent. The right environment is more conducive to magic, like stone circles, deep woods, high pinnacles, and the like," replied Hermione.

"Graveyards," muttered Harry. Louder, he said, "All right. It can't hurt and it shouldn't take long, so have at it."

It did take some time. The two girls couldn't quite agree on what color dark blue was. The fact that Harry repeatedly said he did not care did not speed up the process. Harry fairly exploded when Ron suggested brass-colored edging for the sleeves, since Ginny then said she favored silver while Hermione plumped for for gold.

Gabrielle hated the fact that she was under the bed. Besides it being a bad habit to hide all the time, really useful magic was being done and she wanted to see and, perhaps, try it. Changing her clothing into something else was very attractive right now. She could not see anything at all like this. If she came out, though, Gabrielle knew she would be sent away. But then, thought Gabrielle, if she wasn't under the bed she still wouldn't be included, even if she was a proper witch with a wand and all. She needed the invisibility cloak. George and Fred would know where Mrs. Weasley would have hidden it. They would tell her after they apologized for making her face Mrs. Weasley alone.

Once Harry had resigned himself to at least a bit of edging, the focus returned to the locket. Harry hissed at the snake, Gabrielle assumed, quietly at first. She did not think that she would ever get used to that. Harry then let out a strange, snarling kind of hiss that made Gabrielle wish she could scoot back farther, much farther. There were gasps from the others.

"So was that it, or what?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry numbly. "Yeah, that's it." Ginny wailed. Gabrielle could see Harry's shoes cross the room. If he was going to comfort Ginny, wondered Gabrielle with concern, what was he going to do with the snake?

The answer came when she saw the serpent lower itself to the floor. Gabrielle was filled with apprehension, then relief as the creature slithered into the darkness under Ginny's bed. Hermione cleared her throat, "Well, er, well done. Hurrah for our side and all." Except for some heavy breathing and Ginny's sniffles, there was no response. "Come on, this is really quite good. Now it's just a matter of working out how to open it."

"Opening it won't be a problem, for me. It'll be parseltongue again - I'm sure of it," asserted Harry. "It'll have to be worn though, like Gaunt's ring. You'd need to be Professor Dumbledore, or you'd need a real daft wizard to do it."

"Or just one you didn't like," suggested Ron.

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione. "At least we have it. That leaves the cup and the snake and something possibly related to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor."

"It'll be Gryffindor," said Harry grimly. "Voldemort made a horcrux to mark important events, right? I've been thinnking about this. That night in the graveyard... It's Pettigrew's silver arm. I'll bet the last horcrux is the hand of the Gryffindor traitor." That declaration met a stunned silence.

"I wonder if there is a way of telling whether an object is a horcrux or not?" considered Hermione.

"You mean besides finding out if Ginny fancies it?" asked Ron.

"Ron!" exclaimed Harry and Hermione together. Gabrielle couldn't see, but it sounded like Hermione had slapped him again.

"You bastard," Ginny choked out.

"That was ruddy uncalled for, mate," said Harry in a low voice that brought up the hairs on the back of Gabrielle's neck again.

"Wot? It could be a right useful skill," reasoned Ron.

"Just apologize you unthinking clod," ordered Hermione. "Ginny's upset enough."

"All right, I'm sorry," said Ron. It did not sound sincere to Gabrielle. "I don't see why she's so upset. She's turned up two of them. Dumbledore only managed one." More silence.

"Er, Ginny, I don't suppose there's a -" began Hermione.

"I already asked," interrupted Harry.

"Oh, good," said Hermione. Gabrielle wondered if they were all going to start kissing again, as they had seemed to run out of things to say. She hoped that was not the case as she needed to use a bathroom. "I've just thought of something," added Hermione brightly. "Ron figured it out again!"

"You're right, Hermione. I should get something for that, right?" agreed Ron. It'll be more kissing for sure, thought Gabrielle. Harry laughed and Ginny scoffed.

"You should, Ron. You deserve, er, a biscuit," gushed Hermione.

"A biscuit?" asked Ron, obviously disappointed.

"Yes, Ron. Let's go and see if we can find you a biscuit - together," offered Hermione breathily.

"Ah, what the hell. It's almost time for tea anyway!" Ron was over his disappointment.

"Remember, not a word to anyone about this yet," said Harry sharply. "We'll keep it among the four of us until after the wedding, right?"

"Er..." said Ginny.

"Sure, mate. Who'd believe it anyway?" said Ron. The bed above Gabrielle creaked, and Ron slid off it again. Gabrielle wondered if Mrs. Weasley would give her clean sheets. She could see the shoes of Hermione and Ron, and the attached people she assumed, move to the door. Crookshanks suddenly yowled noisily. He sounded far away.

"Oh. Er, Ginny can handle that," said Hermione. Crookshanks mewed piteously. Hermione followed that with, "Please. It's not that high. You got yourself up there - you can get down. Come on, Ron." Crookshanks hissed and yowled at the rebuke. "It's comments like that that gets kitty kibbles instead of chicken!" snapped his owner.

Once the door was closed, Crookshanks quieted except for an occasional pathetic meow. Gabrielle almost felt sorry for him, but she was more worried about the snake. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about it. She had not seen it come out from beneath Ginny's bed, but perhaps it had slithered out at the end by the wardrobe. From there it could creep along under the table next to her bed. If it moved slowly, considered Gabrielle drawing her legs up to her chest, would she hear it? Or would the first sign of the reptile be a flicking tongue tasting her flesh? Gabrielle needed Harry to leave, so she could crawl out and get her wand with a minimum of ridicule. She would probably end up poking the snake with it, but it was, as Hermione said, the look of the thing. Was that rustling?

"Er, Harry, there's something I - what are you doing?" asked Ginny.

"Uh, being incorrigible?"

"I'm hardly in the mood right now Harry. A scrap of the most evil bastard ever was just found laying about my room. That sort of puts a girl off, you know?"

"Right, right. Stupid of me." Gabrielle saw Harry's trainers reappear.

"I didn't say you had to go," complained Ginny.

After a little while of quiet, during which Gabrielle was sure she distinctly heard - something - from over by the bedside table, Harry asked, "I wonder if they'll bring any biscuits back for us?"

Ginny laughed. "I don't think that they're really off to the kitchen, Harry. I'm pretty sure I heard them go up the stairs, not down them."

"But Hermione said -"

"I think it was a metaphorical biscuit, Harry."

"Umm, right. I think."

"They're at least going to be incorrigible, as it were.'

"Lucky sod," muttered Harry.

"I'm sorry Harry. But the locket thing is just... I promise I'll figure something out, okay? It wouldn't work out right now anyway. Effy is under the bed."

"Effy is under..." repeated Harry. Gabrielle could see the back of his head as he swung down to look under Ginny's bed. She noticed that Harry did not comb his hair much.

"Under the other bed, silly," reported Ginny. "Er, you aren't angry,are you?"

"Well, what's she doing under there?" demanded Harry. "I've only told you, Ron, and Hermione. The Ministry doesn't know, the Order doesn't know, but now she does!" Gabrielle suddenly thought of the centaurs, and shuddered. But, she remembered, he had saved her when she meant nothing - was nothing. It must have been the hand of fate that led him to do that, and it was now that same hand that had brought her here. There was no reason for her to fear. If it is his fate to be the Chosen One, thought Gabrielle solemnly, then it is my fate to help. She just wished she was wearing an outfit that made her look like she could help, and that she could emerge gracefully from under the bed.

"She had a run-in with Mum too," explained Ginny. "Effy wanted to be, er, alone."

"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Harry.

"She already knew about R.A.B., and then the locket business happened... Look, Harry, she's already sworn to keep my and Hermione's secrets. She has helped in ways you don't see, and you know how Hermione is about people not keeping their pledges," said Ginny. Gabrielle didn't know how Hermione was; she could not be worse than Fleur. This, decided Gabrielle, was the time to come out, with Ginny's praise still in the air. She braced her feet against the wall and pushed. She was hoping to slide out to the middle of the floor in dramatic fashion. It almost worked as envisioned, except that some part of her stupid dress snagged and only her head and shoulders cleared the bed. Harry stared down at her, his face inverted to hers.

"Eh, I am sorry," blurted Gabrielle. It was the first thing in her head. She pushed against the wall to try and free the snag. At least Harry did not appear angry, thought Gabrielle. She just wished that he did not look like he would laugh.

"Come on, Harry. She's all right," insisted Ginny when Harry didn't say anything. "The twins like her."

"I guess there's no harm. Up you get," said Harry as he reached down and started to pull Gabrielle out from under the bed.

"No! Wait!" cried Gabrielle. It was too late, and with a ripping sound she was pulled free. Gabrielle looked down to see a tear in the dress, and she wore a halo of dusty fuzz. The hole was several inches long and above her left knee. She was not upset; Harry was.

"Oh Merlin! I'm sorry Ef, er, Gabrielle. Are you cut?" asked Harry in concern.

"No. I am fine. Ze dress is ruined, but I did not like it anyway," replied Gabrielle. She tried to brush off the dust nonchalantly. One less of Fleur's nightmares was fine with her.

"I could try to fix it, or Mrs. Weasley could, for sure," said Harry.

"Fleur says I am not to wear, eh, repaired clothes," informed Gabrielle. Of course, Fleur was referring to the muggle clothes Gabrielle bought herself, and the occasional botched patch job. It was true that Fleur had said it, though. "Ze dress will have to be burned."

"Burned? What?" exclaimed Harry. Ginny laughed.

"Fleur is eh, eh, particular, very much, about my clothes," said Gabrielle dismissively. That was also true, but not really relevant. With one dress already burned by Fred and this one torn, she might be able to convince Mrs. Weasley she really did need Ginny's clothes.

"That's insane," opined Harry. "Fleur is round the bend."

"Fleur does take clothing very seriously," grimaced Ginny. "You get a pass because you're a celebrity."

"I'm... I'm , uh... What?" asked Harry. He looked at Ginny as if she had spoken in French.

"Fleur would like ze robes," noted Gabrielle helpfully. "Ze silver on ze sleeve is very nice."

"Erm... Look, forget the clothes for now. I'm sure there's enough galleons left to replace the dress," declared Harry, turning back to Gabrielle. "You can't tell anyone, even Fleur, about the locket."

Gabrielle considered telling Harry that she could safely tell Fleur as Fleur would laugh at her and not believe it, but decided it was beside the point.

"You've got to swear it," said Ginny. She fetched her wand from the table. "Get your, er, wand."

Ha, thought Gabrielle. Ginny will be surprised. Gabrielle went to her handbag and pulled out the wand from Fred. Hiding it until the last moment, Gabrielle brought it forth with a flourish to cross Ginny's longer wand.

"Oy, Effy! Where'd you get that?" asked Ginny. She was surprised, noted Gabrielle with satisfaction.

"Fred gave it to me. It is very good," explained Gabrielle enthusiastically. She demonstrated this with several vigorous flicks and swishes. "It is from Ver- eh, it is one of ze wands he had."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm jealous. The twins must really like you. I couldn't even talk them into a discount on Whizbangs, and I'm family." Ginny suddenly frowned. "Unless you did that Veela-"

"No!" snapped Gabrielle. "It is my reward for helping zem." Ginny stared hard at her, but Gabrielle stared right back. Except, in the back of her head, the scene where she made Fred give her his wands replayed. That did not count, rationalized Gabrielle, since she would have given the wand back, but she broke eye contact with Ginny.

"Just promise you won't tell anyone," interrupted Harry.

"Swear it," said Ginny again. She raised her wand again. "Harry?" prompted Ginny.

Gabrielle crossed her wand with theirs and swore she would not tell anyone what she heard, ever. It was an easy thing to promise, since she was not completely clear on what the teens had found.

Harry decided at that point that he should go back to his room. Ginny reminded him to take the locket, but then looked saddened when he did. Gabrielle reminded him to take the snake. He called it with a quite hiss, and it moved to him slowly from the shelter of Gabrielle's bed. Gabrielle had thought she heard something moving. Harry tucked the snake into a pocket of his robes, and made to put the locket around his neck until Ginny shouted. The locket went into another pocket and with an overly long, by Gabrielle's expectations, goodbye kiss, Harry jumped out the window with his broom. It was a very dramatic exit. By the time Gabrielle got to the window Harry was already hovering on his broom outside the window to his room. Gabrielle banged her head on the window frame when she pulled back. She was sure she had opened it fully, and eyed the window suspiciously.

"Tell me more about this wand," ordered Ginny just as Crookshanks cried again.

Gabrielle was still peeved over Ginny's accusations and didn't feel like telling her anything. "Should we help him?" she asked instead of answering Ginny.

"Who?" asked Ginny.

"Ze cat. I zink he is, eh, stopped. Eh, stuck," replied Gabrielle. She moved to the wardrobe. In all honesty, thought Gabrielle, it did not look that high. Crookshanks was just probably afraid of the snake.

"Oh, he can get down if he wasn't so lazy and spoiled." Crookshanks let out a heart-rending cry at that.

Gabrielle moved the chair from the vanity to the wardrobe. It did not hurt to check, thought Gabrielle. She stepped onto the chair and straightened up, only to see the ginger-furred cat diving onto her. Crookshanks landed, claws out, onto her chest and then dropped lightly onto the bedside table. Gabrielle toppled backward off the chair from the impact and crashed to the ground. She clutched her right wrist to her chest. Oh no, Gabrielle's thoughts screamed, it is broken.

Ginny loomed over her to help her up. "Are you okay?"

Gabrielle wiped her watering eyes. Her wrist really hurt and she was beginning to sweat. Shock, she knew from experience. "I zink it is broken," said Gabrielle through gritted teeth.

"Oh Merlin. Here, get on the bed and I'll get Mum," said Ginny. She all but picked up Gabrielle bodily and helped her lay down, then headed out the door.

With Ginny gone, Gabrielle looked at Crookshanks. He sat on the table, cleaning himself. "You did not 'ave to do zat!" she said angrily. She was feeling light-headed. The cat stopped washing himself, mewed, and stretched. "Zat was not an apology. I 'ave done nozzing to you." Crookshanks finished stretching and padded over to the bed. Gabrielle's glare had no effect on him. "Go away," ordered Gabrielle. Crookshanks did not, but started to lick Gabrielle's nose and eyebrows, which was disgusting mostly because she knew what he had had for breakfast. Gabrielle supposed this was closer to an apology, but she pushed him away and off the bed.

Crookshanks exited the room when Mrs. Weasley and Madame Pomfrey opened the door to enter. Mrs. Weasley did not appear angry with her anymore, and stroked her hair while the healer examined her.

"Goodness Miss Delacour, you are having a run of bad luck," said Madame Pomfrey. "Or perhaps it is a different kind of good luck: your wrist is not broken, just badly sprained." She tapped Gabrielle's arm with her wand. "That should help," said Madame Pomfrey, rummaging through her large bag. She produced a brown bottle of sludgy potion, poured a glooping measure into a glass, and said, "This will help also." With her wand pointed into Gabrielle's face, the healer added, "So will rest. Am I clear about that? There are those in this household who think they know better, believing a person should get back up as soon as possible, but an injured body heals better when it is allowed to properly rest!"

Mrs. Weasley put her hand on the wand aimed at Gabrielle. "Now Pommy, Alastor is just getting stubborn in his advancing years. Gabrielle will be good, right?"

Gabrielle swallowed hard and nodded. She took the glass from Madame Pomfrey and drank it down. The potion tasted of lemon, with a lingering after taste of sulphur. Gabrielle would have preferred it the other way around.


	19. Lothario

Chapter Nineteen - Lothario

"Now then, dear, why are you filthy?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"I was, eh, under ze bed," replied Gabrielle. There was no reason to lie and upset Mrs. Weasley again.

"Under the bed? Why on earth were you under there?"

Gabrielle looked down at her wrist, which was definitely swollen even with Madame Pomfrey's ministrations. She had expected the question, and debated as to whether to attempt a weepy, pathetic complaint about how embarrassing it was to be in the dresses Fleur chose. It did not work on Maman, and lately annoyed her. If it annoyed Mrs. Weasley also, then Gabrielle knew she would never get a chance to see George and Fred's shop. Maman did not like normal, modern clothing though. Mrs. Weasley did not seem to mind Ginny dressing in such a style; she might be sympathetic. It was better not to risk provoking Mrs. Weasley, Gabrielle decided. "I was, eh, petting Crookshanks."

"Tsk! You girls spoil him rotten," scolded Mrs. Weasley mildly. "It's no wonder that cat's getting as much chicken as Ron!" Gabrielle rather suspected a tiger would have difficulty keeping up with her future brother-in-law, but didn't say so. Mrs. Weasley looked confused for a moment and asked, "Ginny said you were trying to get Crookshanks down from the wardrobe?"

"Yes. Crookshanks jumped on me. I was trying to help him," said Gabrielle. The anger at the cat came back.

"Why was he up there?" continued Mrs. Weasley.

"Eh, he... Zere, zere was -" stumbled Gabrielle.

"Oh, Crookshanks likes those kind of hiding places. You know that Mum. I'm very sure little Effy had nothing to do with it," inserted Ginny breezily. Mrs. Weasley gave Gabrielle a scrutinizing look. What, wondered Gabrielle, was Ginny trying to do? Was Ginny trying to get her in trouble?

"Hmm. You have been spending too much time with the twins," said Mrs. Weasley. "Did Crookshanks do that tear in your dress?" The matron pulled out her wand.

"No. Ze bed caught zis," replied Gabrielle. She could not quite keep the disgust from her tone when she indicated the dress.

"Don't bother, Mum. Fleur says Gabrielle is not supposed to wear repaired clothes," said Ginny. Mrs. Weasley looked aghast.

"It is true," shrugged Gabrielle. Not in reference to the current circumstances, but true.

"Did you hear that Pommy? Young witches today! They would not be such wastrels now if they lived through the hardships we did," declared Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes, mother," said Ginny with a roll of her eyes.

"Don't take that attitude with me young lady. You're in trouble already, and when your father gets home we'll just see how much more you and that - boy - are in!" Mrs. Weasley's face reddened, and she visibly swelled. The soft spot is gone, it seems, cringed Gabrielle.

"Speaking of hardships," said Madame Pomfrey quickly. "I think I'll go and sedate Alastor, er, again." She snapped her bag closed. "You are to stay in bed, resting, until at least dinner," ordered Madame Pomfrey with a glare toward Gabrielle.

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," agreed Gabrielle meekly, even though it was hardly her fault that the healer's other patients did not listen. Of course, it was just as easy for her not to use her right arm at all. Again. There wasn't any reason to just sit in bed, but now was not the time to point that out to the medi-witch.

v - v - v - v - v

Once Madame Pomfrey had left to medicate Monsieur Moody, and after Mrs. Weasley had vented more of her spleen at Ginny, Gabrielle and Ginny were left alone. It had taken quite some time for Mrs. Weasley to finish. This was mostly due to the fact that Ginny was apparently unable to just hang her head and weather the storm of criticism. That, remembered Gabrielle, always worked with Fleur and usually worked with Maman. It was important to pay some attention, of course. Otherwise they tended to start over.

Gabrielle tried to be invisible on the bed, but Mrs. Weasley's anger and hurt was like a living creature. If it could not get at Ginny, it would snap at Gabrielle. Ginny was really annoying Gabrielle now. The way Ginny sighed, argued back, and waved her hands at Mrs. Weasley's admonishments - it was like teasing a dog! Gabrielle wasn't sure she wanted to be like Ginny anymore. Ginny was given a lot of respect in the Weasley household, and was able to get her way in most things. But, thought Gabrielle, she did it the same way a dragon would. It might all be just a facade, considered Gabrielle, given Ginny's emotional collapse in response to words like diary or locket. Ginny also tended to be obsessive. Gabrielle decided she might rather be like Hermione. Hermione was certainly respected, and Harry seemed to think that she could do any magic needed. A powerful witch who everyone thought could do anything - that's what Gabrielle wanted to be. Except, of course, Gabrielle would have better taste in boys.

Gabrielle waited a few minutes after Mrs. Weasley left, and went to use the bathroom. One of the house-elves spotted her in the hall and squealed with delight. It disappeared and reappeared in an instant, attacking her with the soot brush from the floo. Gabrielle had to politely but firmly close the bathroom door on the elf. She discovered that her face was an absolute mess; she would have thought someone would have mentioned it. Gabrielle washed, mostly dodged the elf in the hall, and then changed her clothes. She chose the most-hated of Fleur's selections: the dress with the huge, stupid collar. The only time she had ever, ever seen a girl her age wear something like this was once on a muggle boat on the Seine. The girl's collar had really been an orange floaty vest, but it was the same size and shape as the collar on Fleur's idea of fashion. Gabrielle wore in the hope it would be ruined as well.

Since she was already up and the hall was still clear, save for the lunatic elf with the brush, Gabrielle decided that she could just as easily rest somewhere else. Especially since she was tired of Ginny's aspersions and her general hysteria. Ginny had to stay; Gabrielle did not. Well, thought Gabrielle, at least the consequences were not so dire if she were not to remain. Gabrielle figured Ginny would be fine as long as the window was not warded.

Gabrielle took up her wands - the little one from Fred and the knife from Gaston. She also bundled the dusty, torn dress into a ball and took that. If the sitting room was empty, Gabrielle really could burn the dress. After all, thought Gabrielle, it would not help Harry Potter to lie to him.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle made her way carefully down the stairs, straining her ears to hear any movements. A house-elf, a different one she was sure, crept silently behind her sweeping after her every move. There did not seem to be anyone else moving around the Burrow at the moment. Gabrielle heard Madame Pomfrey scolding Monsieur Moody from a room on the same level as Fleur's. She hurried down to the empty entry hall.

The entry hall was quiet also, but not entirely empty. Just outside the door to the sitting room, a furtive movement caught her eye. There was nothing when she turned, but Gabrielle was sure she had seen a red cap. Her heart leapt at the thought of another package from George. And Fred. While the morning at been the best, there wasn't much she could do right now.

Distracted, Gabrielle entered the sitting room and stopped short. Mrs. Weasley was in front of the hearth, which glowed green. A head appeared in the flames and Gabrielle froze in horror.

"I do apologize, Molly. I zought I 'ad ze tickets 'ere and - Gabrielle," said the head, which belonged to Madame Delacour. Mrs. Weasley turned around quickly.

"Maman!" gasped Gabrielle. Terror gripped her, followed by guilt. Was Mrs. Weasley reporting the morning's trick to Maman? Mrs. Weasley had been angry, thought Gabrielle, but... But, added Gabrielle's second thoughts, you betrayed her trust. Is this how she felt?

"(I know that look, Gabrielle. What has happened now?)" asked Gabrielle's mother.

"(Eh... I... I... hurt my wrist. In a fall,)" said Gabrielle. She put her hands, and the objects they held, behind her back.

"(And?)" prompted Madame Delacour. Gabrielle was near panic now. What did Maman know? What had Mrs. Weasley told her? Was it too late to run  
back to Ginny's room?

"(I tore my dress?)" added Gabrielle uncertainly.

"Oh, shall I leave you two to talk?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "There are some things I could attend to..."

"I 'ave to apologize again, Molly. I 'ad 'oped Gabrielle would be less trouble zan she 'as been," said Madame Delacour with a heaving sigh.

"Please, Apolline, compared to my own she's no problem at all. It is my fault for not keeping the twins from her," apologized Mrs. Weasley.

"(Then I suppose that is one of their joke wands? Yes?)" asked Madame Delacour, looking at Gabrielle.

Gabrielle looked down and brought the little wand forward again, "(It is, eh, for practice.)" That did not answer the question, so it was not a lie. She flicked the wand as in the silencing spell, and waved it like she was conjuring flames.

"Very nicely done, dear," praised Mrs. Weasley. She quietly clapped. Gabrielle started to blush.

Her mother was not impressed. "I 'ave warned 'er about playing wizz wands - she 'as many accidents. Accidents wizz magique are much worse, very much so. Please, Molly, see zat she does not injure permanently 'erself. I will relieve you of zis burden tomorrow." Gabrielle's blush deepened. I am old enough to take care of myself, thought Gabrielle  
crossly. I am not a little girl.

"Why, she's hardly a burden. Gabrielle was very helpful this morning at breakfast. Perhaps there was a lapse of common sense and judgment later, but that's been handled," assured Mrs. Weasley.

"Mmm... per'aps. Zere 'as been no reports from Fleur, for days now. I 'ad 'ope Gabrielle was be'aving, but I could not believe," added Madame Delacour. Gabrielle gritted her teeth. If she were to speak of someone like that, in front of the person, it would be called rude.

"Well, er, was there something you wanted, dear? You are supposed to be resting," reminded Mrs. Weasley.

"I zought to rest -" began Gabrielle.

"Be'ind the sofa?" asked her mother with a tinkling chuckle.

v - v - v - v - v

The little nook under the table behind the sofa was much cleaner than the space beneath the bed, and now felt much roomier as well. It was a secluded spot, thought Gabrielle, not a private one. How could it be private when everyone had known of it? Gabrielle had been sure that Maman had not known of her private places at Delacour manor, then listened in shock as Maman laughingly described them to Mrs. Weasley. It must be a mother's special sense, considered Gabrielle, as Mrs. Weasley provided a similar, but shorter, list of places Ginny used to use.

It was not all loss, though. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have forgiven her, and dropped off a plate of biscuits and a glass of pumpkin juice without a word. Gabrielle suspected that Mrs. Weasley was just indulging Gabrielle's silly, childish game of hiding by not speaking to Gabrielle while she was behind the sofa. It was the kind of behavior that was unintentionally insulting, thought Gabrielle; like Mrs. Weasley was saying that she, Gabrielle, was being ridiculous but that the little game could go on. Still, the snack made Gabrielle feel better. Better enough to tempt fate by setting the torn dress on fire in the hearth with her wand. Fleur had, after all, done the same to a pair of carefully ripped denims Gabrielle had purchased. Gabrielle even mostly silenced the crackling flames.

The old family clock in front of her was interesting to watch. Charlie's hand on the clock was again the most active. It was often pointing to 'in trouble', verging on 'mortal peril', before going back to 'at work'. It might be, thought Gabrielle, that the clock was still not working correctly. It was, perhaps, too sensitive. At least she hoped so. George and Fred's clock hands swung from 'at work' to 'travelling' to 'in trouble', and then, as Gabrielle looked on in horror, first Fred's and then George's hand moved to 'mortal peril'. Their hands stayed there for what seemed an eternity before both shifted back to 'travelling'. Gabrielle, breathing heavily after holding her breath, decided that she would never get a family  
clock of her own. It would be far too nerve-wracking.

The other reason she suspected the clock was not quite right was the hand marked Percy. It just hung limply, only pointing to 'lost' during the entire time she watched it. The French Ministry where Papa worked had an labyrinth under it, remembered Gabrielle. It was used to store filing. Perhaps the British Ministry had one as well. Gabrielle used to look forward to the labyrinth on the occasions when she visited Papa at his office. A different path was possible each time, so it was always interesting. Gabrielle enjoyed that until she noticed that she was the only one of her age still made to wear a tether on the tour, and that no amount of pleading, crying, or smiling in that certain way would change Papa's insistence. The resulting scene was such a humiliating memory that Gabrielle could not bring herself to ever go again.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape watched Narcissa flail away at what might be the evening's meal. She wielded two large cleavers as if she held a grudge against the foodstuffs, and she visibly wilted with the effort.

"My offer still stands, Narcissa," said Snape, pushing the cooling cup of tea away.

"Serve muggle food in my house? In Malfoy manor? I have not fallen that far. Lucius would never forgive it," snapped Madame Malfoy. Her anger revitalized her slashing attack.

"A pig is a pig, cattle are cattle," reminded Snape irritably. "Prepared in the same manner also, I'd wager," he added snidely.

Narcissa's shoulders slumped and she let the knives drop with a quiet, barely heard sob. "It was supposed to be better than this, better than what we had. The return of the Dark Lord was to be a golden era for the Malfoy family, but year after year I have less. Lucius rubbed shoulders with the Minister, and half the Wizengamot. Then Lucius was taken, and now Draco must live as a fugitive! The house-elves - they were gutted, Severus! They were cut open and pulled apart like they had no value. What does it mean?"

Snape hissed. "Do not say such things, do not - think - such things," said Snape quickly. "If my lord senses doubt in you it will go badly."

Narcissa turned on the former professor, brandishing a beet root. "Go badly? How much more badly can it go? My husband is gone. My child is gone. I am reduced to the role of servant, and now I must also serve that lecherous, doddering old -"

"Draco is, I remind you, still alive," interrupted Snape. "Prudence on your part will do much to keep him that way" Narcissa gasped; Snape gestured to calm her. "The old fool is to be, unfortunately, your guest. The doddering and the lecherous behavior will be his undoing, know that. He pines for the energy and vigorousness of youth. He was, perhaps still is, a powerful wizard, one the Dark Lord can use, and the old fool will trade much for the promises the Dark Lord can make. Once our lord can speak with us again, then we can see what plans can be salvaged. The one to free Lucius perhaps?" The old wizard was perfect for the Dark Lord's use, and Snape's. Ogden Dickinbottom was potent magically, if not otherwise, but was also mentally declining. He could be convinced to freely give himself over to the Dark Lord, as required by the magics, with the promise of the return of vitality. The frailty of Ogden's body would limit the Dark Lord's use of it, making his lieutenants more valuable, while holding open the possibility that the body would also fail. Either way, Snape thought, there would be more time to assure his future. And Draco's.

"You are right, Severus," sighed Narcissa. She tossed the beet onto the worktable behind her and leaned against it. "I need time to master  
the required magic for running the household alone. You were very kind to make the offer, which I accept with apologies for my outburst. You  
are a dear friend."

"These are trying times," said Snape graciously. "Now, have you ever had a curry?"

v - v - v - v - v

It did not seem, concluded Gabrielle, that Crookshanks had come to terms with the fascination his mistress had for Ron. That was the reason, she felt, that the cat had come butting his head against hers until she relented and scratched his neck again. Gabrielle did not feel too sorry for him, however. She would have more sympathy for Crookshanks if he took up less space. The feline was currently a puddle of fur between Gabrielle and the clock. He was cleaning a paw and worrying one of his claws. Gabrielle decided that Crookshanks was  
like a cat version of Ron: bigger than necessary and brusque in behavior. His grooming was better though.

It was getting close to dinner. Gabrielle knew this because she was starting to get hungry, because many of the hands on the clock moved to 'travelling', and because Mrs. Weasley's clock hand was pointing to 'make dinner'. Gabrielle decided that she would help Mrs. Weasley. Her wrist no longer hurt, and building up goodwill with Mrs. Weasley might earn her some help with Maman. Of course, that meant shifting Crookshanks. He had rebuffed previous attempts, and there was not enough space to climb over him. She was tempted to try the curse from Hermione, but her belief that the right incantation and her little wand would make it work easily was over-ruled by the image of Maman snapping the wand while she looked on with another over-sized bandage on her hand.

"Eh, Crookshanks? Can you get up? Please?" whispered Gabrielle. The cat ignored her. Gabrielle supposed she could try whispering the  
curse. That might limit any back-fire. She would have to ask Hermione for help with that spell also. "I am going to ze kitchen, Crookshanks," hinted Gabrielle. The flatish face turned to stare at  
her with disdain, but the pricked ears gave him away. "I can not find ze chicken if I am here," she continued. Yes, thought Gabrielle as she followed Crookshanks out from behind the sofa, he is very much like Ron.

When Gabrielle entered the kitchen proper it was in time to see Mrs. Weasley facing a line of sweating, trembling house-elves who clearly looked terrified. Well, Dobby was neither sweating nor looking terrified, but he was trembling.

"You all did such a good job today," praised Mrs. Weasley. "Thank you for your help. And now..." Gabrielle watched as Mrs. Weasley placed a  
single sickle into each elf's hand. Most needed help closing their hand around the coin, and even then did not lower their arms. Half had their eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would think, thought Gabrielle, she was doing something awful to them. The second house-elf on the left developed a nosebleed. Dobby, on the other hand, accepted his sickle and tucked it happily into a fold on one of his hats.

"It was fun to help Harry Potter's Missuz Wheazy, Missuz Wheazy. Dobby will bring more house-elves tomorrow to help with cooking the wedding feast!" gushed Dobby.

"Er - Oh, I expect I'll be able to manage," said Mrs. Weasley quickly.

Dobby switched from elation to crushed. "If you says so, Missuz Wheazy. Harry Potter says you have too much work -"

"Harry Potter says that, does he?" bristled Mrs. Weasley. "There wouldn't be half the work if I didn't need to punish -"

"The Hogwarts elves like the work," interrupted Dobby. That action earned him shocked, wide-eyed stares from the other house-elves. Except for the second one on the left who had his head back and was pinching his nose. "The summers, Missuz Wheazy, are long and cruel to us elves. We was hoping to please you," he added in nearly a whisper. Dobby's large eyes brimmed with tears and his lip quivered.

"You have, dears. The Burrow hasn't been so clean in years," said Mrs. Weasley to the nervous smiles facing her. "It's just..." she began, and the smiles turned to expressions of woe. "Oh, all right. There is quite a lot to prepare, and -"

"Dobby will bring more good elves! First thing tomorrow!"

"Yes, but -" started Mrs. Weasley, but it was too late. Dobby disappeared with a pop. The other house-elves, seeing this, also quickly disapparated. The last one to leave brought his sickle up to his face, quivered all over, and gave Mrs. Weasley a shy smile before vanishing also.

Mrs. Weasley scrubbed her forehead several times, then ran her fingers through her hair. She turned in surprise when Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Oh, it's you dear. How's the wrist, then?"

"It is fine. Eh, can I help wizz dinner?"

"Well, I'm not sure that would count as resting," said Mrs. Weasley lightly, to which Gabrielle made a face. "To tell the truth, I'm quite, quite tired of help today. I could do with a bit of company though."

That was okay with Gabrielle. She had more practice at breakfast, although she would not explain to anyone that it was because a knife was seldom required in the preparation. Maman had completely over-reacted to one careless moment, and Aunt Laurel had not bled that much anyway. Gabrielle put that from her mind and asked about the house-elves. They were so different here than her previous experiences.

"I haven't seen anything like it myself. The ones at Hogwarts always seemed quiet and shy. Dobby - well, Dobby's always been a bit of an odd bird. Hermione says that they were suffering from 'coggy-nive dis-owny-ness' or such. Something about following orders from someone other than their, er, master makes then a little loopy. What did she say? Oh, a secondary binding to the the primary binding, uh... Well, you'll have to ask Hermione yourself," said Mrs. Weasley giving up. "She's always had an interest in house-elves." Gabrielle would do that, but not until she was very sure that Hermione and Ron were done... looking for biscuits.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was sure Mrs. Weasley had a secret. She used distractions and non sequiturs to turn aside questions about the guests at previous dinners. The guests were referred to as old friends, except some weren't any older than Bill. They were also called Mr. Weasley's colleagues, but Gabrielle knew Mr. Weasley was not an auror. One carefully crafted, subtle, and probing question too many, however, and Gabrielle was sent to find Ron. Which she would do, eventually. First she would have to get rid of the four-legged version. Crookshanks had been  
shooed out of the kitchen as well. It was bad enough that the cat had stared at Gabrielle the whole time she talked with Mrs. Weasley. She knew he was expecting to get something to eat, but she had not promised the cat anything. At least he had been quiet then; now he was yowling and complaining and getting under her feet.

"Go away Crookshanks. Eh, go find Hermione," ordered Gabrielle. The cat continued to complain, which Gabrielle took to mean that he was unhappy with her lack of service. "Why should I feed you? What have you done for me? I fell, because of you." Gabrielle did not think it possible, but Crookshanks rolled his eyes at her. The full heat of her anger came back. "It is true! You are a pig!" Inwardly Gabrielle cringed. That sounded dumb.

At least it seemed to have an effect on Crookshanks. The cat looked genuinely surprised for a moment, before recovering to stare at Gabrielle. It had an effect on Gabrielle as well. She realized that she would rather not have people see her talking to a cat. She headed up the stairs to see if Hermione was in the room she shared with Fleur. If Hermione was, then it was probably safe to look for Ron. Crookshanks loped up the stairs with her, but Gabrielle pretended not to notice.

Hermione was not in Fleur's room. Fleur was not either, spending the day with Bill or readying the house they had acquired; Gabrielle wondered what it was like. Gabrielle couldn't help herself, and she swapped the position of a couple of dresses in the wardrobe and gently shifted the carefully spaced necklaces on the silver, filigreed  
holder. She also cast an eye over the bottles of dark amber and flasks of potions, and hoped that Bill really was all right.

The next likely and safe place to look for Hermione was Ginny's room. Gabrielle fully expected Harry to be back with Ginny. She was weighing which would be more amusing: bursting in suddenly or hammering on the door abruptly, when she stumbled over Crookshanks. That was enough for Gabrielle. She started to pull out the little wand she had tangled in her hair. Even if Crookshanks could not really understand her, he would understand that fire and fur do not mix. When she rolled over to face the annoying feline, Gabrielle realized that she had not tripped over Crookshanks, The cat had, in fact, hooked its claws into her sock and tripped her. The act left Gabrielle speechless. Crookshanks took the initiative and tried to drag Gabrielle the other way down the hall, away from Ginny's bedroom. It did not work except to put large runs in her socks.

Gabrielle found her voice and decided to disregard any dire consequences. "_Compunctio!_" called out Gabrielle in a savage whisper. Crookshanks flattened himself to the ground. "_Compunctio!_" It was either not working, thought Gabrielle, or it was harder to aim than she thought. "_Compunctio!_"

Crookshanks hissed and quickly started licking his haunch; Gabrielle had scored a hit. The cat did not release her, though, and leapt, hissing and spitting, toward her. The wand tumbled from her hand as she covered her face. This is ridiculous, thought Gabrielle as soon as her arms were up. I am not a mouse. She lowered her hands to find Crookshanks calmly washing his face, which seemed to Gabrielle to be the cat version of smirking. She quickly got to her feet. At least height was one advantage, thought Gabrielle. A plan of quick retribution was squashed, though, when she noticed that the cat was nonchalantly, yet very purposefully, sitting on her little  
wand. Crookshanks meowed once.

"(You have not won yet, you nasty, fat pig of a cat,)" muttered Gabrielle. She unpinned the knife from Gaston from the folds of her dress, an indelicate operation, and selected the heavy, serrated blade. It was supposed to be used on a fish somehow, but that wasn't important. What was important was that the look of it had horrified all of her friends who had seen it. Gabrielle struck a fencing pose, then leapt toward Crookshanks blade first. The cat hissed again and skittered backwards.

Unfortunately, Gabrielle's wand skittered away with him. Or rather, Gabrielle realized, the cat was taking it with him, swatting it ahead of him as he fled down the hall. She raced after Crookshanks brandishing the gleaming blade, trying to get ahead of him. Gabrielle caught up with him at Mrs. Weasley's bedroom door, just after her wand went under the bottom of the door. Crookshanks sat upright, tail wrapped around his feet, as if nothing that concerned him was happening. He didn't even flinch when the knife was waved in his face. Gabrielle would not have actually hurt the cat. Perhaps he knows this also, thought Gabrielle with a sigh. She opened the door to the bedroom door.

Crookshanks squeezed his way in when the gap was wide enough. Gabrielle half-groaned, half-howled as she expected the animal to continue his game. To her relief, Crookshanks did not. Instead he pawed the handle of the middle, middle drawer of the dark oak dresser. In an instant it was all clear to Gabrielle. The whole fuss had been nothing but a trick by Crookshanks to get her to get something for him. Well, thought Gabrielle, I am not going to be his servant. She snatched up her wand from the floor and turned away with her nose up. I wonder what he wanted, piped Gabrielle's second thoughts. It can't be food, not in with the clothes. Gabrielle hesitated. Crookshanks let out a drawn-out, sing-song meow.

Gabrielle turned back to the dresser. It was covered in framed pictures of the Weasley siblings. It was interesting that only the pictures of the Weasley children older than a toddler but younger than school-age would really wave to get her attention. Younger than that and they would continue playing or hide; older and they would wave but not meet the eye. Except for George. And Fred. They wanted you to look at any age. Gabrielle pulled open the drawer Crookshanks had indicated. It could be a catmint toy, thought Gabrielle, but why hide it here? The drawer held rather large brassieres, and Gabrielle hesitated again. Searching through Mrs. Weasley's personal things was not likely to ever be considered acceptable behavior. The cat mewed  
again. Possibly, it was supposed to encourage her. Gabrielle couldn't tell. She wished she could just ask Crookshanks what it was he wanted. He was spending a lot of effort to get it.

Finally, there didn't seem to be a way forward except for going forward. Gabrielle reached in and gently felt around. She didn't plan on disturbing things if she did not have to. Gabrielle assumed the hidden item would be small solid of some kind, like a jingling ball or charmed plush mouse. So when her hands finally found something that wasn't an undergarment, it took a few moments to realize what it was. Ah, thought Gabrielle, of course. It is Harry's cloak. She pulled her hands out of the drawer, leaving the cloak, and looked at Crookshanks. He yowled in a familiar way. Chicken again, thought Gabrielle.

"Eh, I do not need ze cloak," said Gabrielle. That did not make Crookshanks happy. His tail lashed back and forth irritably. Gabrielle was somewhat amused. He obviously thought this would work. She pushed the drawer shut and half-smiled at Crookshanks. The cat minced about, its tail still whipping. This could be to her advantage, thought Gabrielle. "If you are, eh, good, zen I will see if I can get ze chicken," Gabrielle told Crookshanks. That did not seem to help his mood.

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione was not in Ginny's room. She was, at precisely the wrong moment, in the hall between the two bedrooms. It was the wrong moment because Gabrielle was just exiting Mr. And Mrs. Weasley's bedroom. She faced the older witch with a look of trepidation and waited for the questions. At least she could blame Crookshanks.

Hermione, who had been humming happily to herself while reading through a parchment, surprised Gabrielle. "Oh, hello Beebee," was all she said. Hermione carried a cauldron jammed with equipment.

"Eh, Mrs. Weasley sent me to find Ron," said Gabrielle when it was clear Hermione wasn't going to say more. Hermione just nodded, and  
went back to humming. "Do you know where he is?" asked Gabrielle finally.

"Ron fell asleep," replied Hermione with a light laugh. She turned toward Ginny's room.

"Is he, eh, dressed zis time?"

"What kind of question is that?" asked Hermione quickly. She was not facing Gabrielle, but it was obvious by the pink of her neck that she  
had blushed. Ew, thought Gabrielle.

"Eh. I zought... Eh, his room smells. Can you get him? His mozzer needs him," said Gabrielle to change the topic.

"His room smells," mumbled Hermione, looking again at the parchment. "His room does stink a bit, doesn't it?" she asked, breaking into a smile. "That's perfect. Er, I'll send him down straight-away. Thanks, Beebee." Crookshanks, who was rubbing against Hermione's legs, stopped purring at that.

"It is Gabrielle. You know zis," complained Gabrielle.

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle came back down to the entry hall to discover Mr. Weasley, George, and Fred on their way from the sitting room. It was quite a surprise to see Mr. Weasley home from the Ministry already. He worked a lot and was often tired. He looked very tired right now, thought Gabrielle, even though it was early. She greeted him with a smile, like she would do for Papa. It seemed to cheer Mr. Weasley as well.

"Is there a costumes party later, Gigi?" asked Fred after making a show of looking at Gabrielle.

"Zis is Fleur's choosing," said Gabrielle. Now she wished she had not worn the dress, as it made her look like a child. "It is Gabrielle,  
please."

"Cor, she picked the dress robes for Charlie, too," shuddered Fred following his father toward the kitchen. "That'll be a trial."

"Hello, luv," said George. He patted her on the head as he passed.

That was what Gabrielle was afraid of. She wore the dress in the hopes it would somehow become ruined as well. Instead, it had just ruined her image. That left her frustrated and annoyed. "What kind of greeting is zat?" said Gabrielle crossly, except she meant to think it and not say it.

The Weasleys stopped and turned. "What's that Gigi? Expecting a bit more?" laughed Fred. "Rather forward for her age."

My age is not the problem, thought Gabrielle. It is this stupid dress that stupid Fleur likes. And, continued Gabrielle to herself, I might not have had to wear it if certain brothers had not run away. They are the ones who are like children, not me. I am a mature young woman and I deserve better. "What kind of greeting is zat?" repeated Gabrielle. "I am not ze cat. I want a prop-air greeting." Gabrielle folded her arms across her chest and glared.

"You poked a doxy nest this time, brother," smirked Fred.

"Try to be useful here. Fred. I have labored under the impression that 'hello' was a proper greeting," said George in a desperate, mocking tone.

"Use your gift for languages, and when that fails go and grovel at her feet," replied Fred.

"Perhaps I should try some of your chat-up lines. Madame Pomfrey could fix up my jaw afterwards in no time flat," shot back George.

"A prop-air greeting," fumed Gabrielle, "is an embrace and a kiss on ze cheek. If you had manners you would know zis."

"Oy, she's in a right foul mood. Might be that collar's too tight," advised Fred. "Get over there before she hurts her eyes with that glaring."

"Are you kidding? If anything, the collar looks like it came from a dress three times the size," said George. He moved back to Gabrielle. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Before Gabrielle could answer, George wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. It took her breath away, but not from being crushed. She had forgotten how good his arms felt around her. He leaned in and gave her cheek no more than a perfunctory peck. "Is that good enough?" breathed George right into her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine and reddened her cheeks. She nodded numbly. A proper greeting is very important, thought Gabrielle. This is a very good, proper greeting.

"I say!" said Mr. Weasley abruptly. "Your mother wants a Weasley family tribunal before dinner. Best not to keep her waiting." George pulled back from Gabrielle with just a hint of pink on his ears. Gabrielle felt wobbly.

"A tribunal? Er, you don't know what she's on about, do you?" asked Fred. He looked to George, who was steadying Gabrielle with a hand on her shoulder. Gabrielle felt fine now, but leaned against him a little anyway. "I think she'll stay upright."

"Guilty conscience? No surprise there I suppose," sighed Mr. Weasley. "I don't know what it is, but she was very, er, definite about it."

"It's not about us," asserted George. "We were just doing what Mum asked us to do. Plus a bit."

"Don't let that get around,of course," warned Fred. "We do have a certain image. Speaking of which, this is how it's done." Fred swept up to Gabrielle suddenly, and bent her backwards before planting a noisy wet kiss on her cheek. Gabrielle yelped and flailed her arms for balance, but found none before Fred dropped her to the floor. She landed on her backside, legs askew, and was forced to scramble upright to maintain modesty.

Gabrielle pulled her wand out of her hair, but she wasn't sure she could hit Fred cleanly. It wouldn't do to curse Mr. Weasley! The morning had left Gabrielle thinking that maybe Fred wasn't so bad, and then he went and treated her like that. She did not have to put up with that. George was saying something about having to wait for Bill. That meant she could run upstairs, get Harry's cloak, and perhaps sneak into the kitchen behind Bill. Then, she would lie in wait. When Fred least expected it - compunctio! Right in the ham-and-eggs. It was a very satisfying plan, so Gabrielle ignored the second thoughts pointing out that Fred could turn her into a bug. She was sure George would change her back.

v - v - v - v - v

Step one of the plan was done easily. The cloak had not been moved, and no one saw her, not even Crookshanks. Gabrielle was looking forward to the look on Fred's face. It all went wrong, though, on step two. Bill had arrived as expected; Fleur sniffing at the idea of the Weasley meeting. Gabrielle followed Bill into the kitchen as she had planned, but Bill stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. He turned back toward where Gabrielle stood behind him, and she took a step back toward the entry hall. And the door closed on the cloak.

Gabrielle did not realize that until she tried to move. Fortunately, the excess of cloak that caused the problem in the first place allowed her to remain undetected when the cloak did not move with her. She could not open the door to free it, of course. She couldn't pull it loose, either. She couldn't even sit down, lest someone try to use thedoor and step on her. Finally, Fred was seated on the far side of the table, providing no target. Merde, thought Gabrielle.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle's position had improved, but it had been near disaster. Ron had arrived, which freed the cloak. Gabrielle had never been glad to see him before. He had stopped just inside the door though, and gone very pale before flushing red. Ron demanded to know what this was all about, waving his arms about. Gabrielle was barely able to duck in time. Ron was quickly calmed and relieved when he was told the tribunal was to be about Harry.

While Mrs. Weasley steamed off to get Harry and Ginny, Gabrielle crept over to the spot next to the sideboard. George and Fred were describing 'a bit of a close thing' that happened while doing some business for 'the Order'. Gabrielle had the feeling that did not have anything to do with their shop. Harry had mentioned something in a similar vein earlier. The twins made light of the exchange of spells, but it left Gabrielle wondering if the clock had been more correct than she would like. Mr. Weasley was a little shaken by their account as well, but tried to hide it.

Mrs. Weasley returned dragging Ginny by the arm and towing Harry by the ear. This amused Fred until Mrs. Weasley's fierce glare made it clear it was going to be a serious discussion. She cleared her throat, "This Weasley family tribunal is to decide the fate and punishment of this - boy."

"Bloody hell," murmured Fred." Could he have topped us?"

"Mother, please," an exasperated Ginny pleaded. "There's no need for this."

"Now Molly, calm yourself. What's this all about?" asked Mr. Weasley soothingly.

"This, this, this - lothario - has..." stated Mrs. Weasley.

"Lothario? Did she really just say lothario?" asked George. He smartly covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the snickering.

"This lothario has ruined my precious daughter, our baby, your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley.

"What, you mean Ginny?" Fred leaned forward to look at Ginny. "She seems to be doing okay."

Mrs. Weasley declared, "Her innocence is gone! Ginny has been beguiled, besmirched -"

"Beneath?" suggested George. Ginny went pink and huffed her irritation.

"That's really bad taste, brother," reprimanded Bill.

"Be-shagged?" suggested Fred. He dodged Bill's arm on the first of two swings, ending up with a red ear.

"Enough boys. Your mother is upset enough," said Mr. Weasley. He turned to Harry, who had kept his head down. "Harry, the, er, talk. It wasn't intended to be revision for a practical!" complained Mr. Weasley.

"I'm sorry, sir" said Harry,

"Can I say something?" asked Ginny.

"No! Sorry is not enough. I demand retribution," said Mrs. Weasley shrilly.

"I don't!" snapped Ginny.

"Ronald! Are you even paying attention?" demanded Mrs. Weasley.

"'Course I am, Mum," replied a startled Ron. "Erm..."

"What exactly happened this morning, dear?" asked Mr. Weasley.

v - v - v - v - v

Mrs. Weasley described the morning's discovery. Since Gabrielle had been there, she could tell the Weasley mother was embellishing the story somewhat. Ginny was portrayed as more confused and naïve than brazen and defiant while Harry was made more predatory than abashed. It did not engender the outrage Mrs. Weasley had hoped for. Mr. Weasley looked disappointed. George and Fred looked to be planning something, at least that's how Gabrielle interpreted the eyebrow activity. Bill looked almost amused, though he tried to hide it when his mother looked at him. Ron looked like he didn't know what to feel. He was angry when he faced his mother, disappointed when he faced his father, and confused when he looked at Harry. Ginny was sullen; Harry looked appropriately sorry with a mournful look on his face. Mrs. Weasley would not let Ginny say anything. Gabrielle was glad of it. She would greatly prefer that her part in the fiasco go unnoticed.

"He belongs in Azkaban," declared Fred.

"What? I've had enough of this," cried Ginny.

"Azkaban? Why there?" puzzled Ron. "Shouldn't we just hit him?"

"He must have used the Imperius curse. That, or he really is a suave lothario with a wicked chat-up line," explained Fred. "Which is it Harry?"

"I... It was, er..." stumbled Harry at the sudden question.

"Oh, definitely suave. I can see that working to talk the robes off Ginny and into a - different - room on - another - floor altogether," said George.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ginny suspiciously.

"I dunno George," disagreed Fred. "I was expecting something more traditional, like 'do you want to see my etchings?' or 'wanna take a ride on my broomstick?'. Maybe even 'would you like to see my collection of muggle plugs?'"

Mr. Weasley suddenly coughed loudly. Mrs. Weasley gasped and went very red, "Arthur! How, how could you?"

"Er, well Molly, it was all the security, er, passwords. You see, I was running, that is, er, out," replied Mr. Weasley. "I gave no details," he hurriedly added.

"I'd like to know more," said Ginny. "What year for starters." Mrs. Weasley threw the cup she held at Ginny.

"Why were your clothes back in your room, Ginny?" asked Bill.

"It's my fault. I, er, must have vanished them. By accident," volunteered Harry.

"That's bloody good aim with a vanishing spell," marvelled Fred. "Did you get them folded and put away also?"

"It's your baby sister, and you are making light of this? That - boy - can't stay in this house!" declared Mrs. Weasley.

"Molly, dear, you know we can't turn him out," said Mr. Weasley.

"Our baby sister can beat the tar out of half the boys at Hogwarts, with or without a wand," said George.

"We like Harry," stated Fred. "He saved Ginny; he saved Dad; he's twice saved Ron."

"He saved us from another year cooped up in school," added George.

"He might have jumped the starter's whistle, and, er, Ginny as well..." started Fred.

"But maybe he just wants to get where you want him to go... quicker," finished George.

"I don't think I wanted him to go there!" said Mrs. Weasley loudly. "At least not until... after... Oh!" Mrs. Weasley's face went from angry to hopeful in an instant.

"What the hell are we talking about?" asked Ron. His stomach rumbled.

Bill suddenly barked a laugh, "That's letting the punishment fit the crime!"

"I think the port-key left without me as well," said Mr. Weasley.

"I don't suppose you and Harry have anything to tell us, do you?" Mrs. Weasley asked Ginny in a sweetly insinuating voice. He is back to Harry now, noted Gabrielle. Harry noticed as well.

"Er... Come again?" managed Harry. He did not look to be keeping up any better than Ron.

"Oh, no. No. No. No," said Ginny firmly, shaking her head.

"Going to wait then?" asked George.

"Good idea. Fleur would be even more of a nightmare if you trumped her now," agreed Fred in conspiratorial tone.

"Oy. Watch that tongue of yours. She'll be family soon," growled Bill.

"Is that apple tart I smell?" wondered Ron.

"There's still the matter of proper courtship etiquette," said Mrs. Weasley. "We'll not be allowing any more of, er, that."

"Courtship?" murmured Harry.

"Yes. The thing before engagement, marriage, and grandchildren," said Fred. Harry's eyes widened. Was it surprise or fear, wondered Gabrielle. Ginny was shaking her head again.

"Grandchildren," breathed Mrs. Weasley. "Of course Ginny is too young for that right off, but with a helping hand..."

"Ah, now I see it. Well, let's not rush into anything yet," interrupted Mr. Weasley. His wife gave him a deadly glare.

"That's the thinking. You just leave the warding to us," declared George, "Etiquette is something we've heard of." "Just not practiced," added Fred.


	20. The Replacement

Chapter Twenty - The Replacement

Gabrielle had just noticed a flaw in her plan to hex Fred. Another flaw, she had to admit. There was already his unstoppable counter and the complete lack of an escape route. Now she realized that, once she was standing in temporary triumph over her fallen foe, everyone would see that she had used the invisibility cloak, including Harry and Mrs. Weasley. Especially Mrs. Weasley, since she had hidden it and would therefore know exactly what Gabrielle had done to get it. Philippe, thought Gabrielle, was much better at these games.

Gabrielle watched as the Weasleys squabbled. Mrs. Weasley was enthusiastically recounting her favorite weddings to Ginny, who was ignoring her mother in favor of glaring at George and Fred. They were, in turn, ignoring her while offering advice to Harry about rings. Harry looked like he wanted to run. Mr. Weasley was advising Ginny to not rush into things, which earned him another rebuke from Mrs. Weasley. Ron appeared to be listening to the twins. Bill was just shaking his head and laughing.

Actually, thought Gabrielle returning to her own predicament, there was a problem even if she did nothing. When it was time for dinner, what was she to do? She could wait by the door and try to sneak out, and then come back in. But she would have to be very lucky since she would have no warning that someone was about to enter. The plan that seemed so good to her now seemed doomed to failure no matter what she did. Mrs. Weasley will be so mad, sighed Gabrielle as quietly as she could.

Another thought occurred to Gabrielle. She could skip dinner and remain hidden until afterwards. Or perhaps, she could follow whoever was sent to find her out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley would see to that. Would she though, considered Gabrielle. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley would assume that she, Gabrielle, was hiding again and wanted to be left alone. Sitting there with the smell of dinner and the scent of apples and cinnamon in the air, however, made that distinctly unappealing.

It was clear that the best choice was to give up on her plan. She was now more hungry for dinner than angry at Fred. She would have to think things through a lot better for next time. It figures, noted Gabrielle, that just as the plan was abandoned Fred stood up in the perfect position for a clear shot. Gabrielle quietly rose to get into position by the door.

At least, she tried to. The cloak started to come away again, arresting Gabrielle's movement. She went back to a crouch and and looked over her shoulder. Crookshanks sat beside and slightly behind her, washing his face. Gabrielle knew with certainty that he was also sitting on the edge of the cloak. She wondered where the cat had come from. She felt she should have seen him come in through either door.

Crookshanks stared at Gabrielle. Gabrielle stared at the cat. The waves of irritation and annoyance she aimed at him had no effect. Gabrielle wondered what his game was this time. She also wondered if Harry could conjure a small snake for her to carry around. Gabrielle did not particularly like snakes, but she could get used to them if they kept Crookshanks away.

Gabrielle could not stare at Crookshanks as long as he could at her. When she looked around, she noticed that Harry was squinting at where she was still crouched. Gabrielle decided that since it was his cloak maybe he could tell it was being used. Disaster seemed imminent, of that she was sure. She would be discovered, she would be punished, and she would make Mrs. Weasley mad without having the good part of the plan come to fruition. What a waste of effort, grumbled Gabrielle to herself.

After all, Gabrielle ruminated, how much worse would it really be if she went ahead? The only added trouble would be Fred's return hex. George or Mrs. Weasley would step in after that to stop Fred from killing her. She pulled out her little wand and stuck her tongue out at Crookshanks. That probably didn't make much of an impression on him, thought Gabrielle, given how often his tongue was out licking himself. But it gave her the morale boost she needed. Gabrielle jumped forward, emerging from the cloak that was pinned by Crookshanks. "_Compunctio!_" she cried.

George and Bill jumped backward in surprise; Fred collapsed back, curled into a ball, with a yodelling howl. She had done it!

"_Expelliarmus!_" That was from Harry. Gabrielle's little wand flew from her hand and she was battered against the wall and sideboard. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, dazed. There was a lot of commotion now, particularly near Fred. Gabrielle shook her head to clear it. It was time to leave. Fred was calling out something, but he sounded like he was gagging on the words. Gabrielle pushed herself into a kneeling position as a golden glow enveloped her. The glow was gone in an instant, but her skin was now yellowish. She looked closer at her arm. Her skin looked like it was moving; she felt a peculiar writhing sensation all over her. Ignoring the shouting, Gabrielle rubbed the back of her hand and quailed. She was covered in tiny yellow insects. She brushed them off her arm in shock, then watched in horror as more boiled out of her skin. Her hands were covered; her arms were covered; her legs were covered. A sickly feeling came over Gabrielle: if what she was feeling was what she thought it was then her whole body was crawling with bugs.

Just as she cried out with revulsion Bill was suddenly at her side. She knew it was wrong, but the sudden closeness of his still-raw looking scars made her pull back. He had her by the arm though and was repeating an incantation in some weird language while circling his wand over her head. Gabrielle felt a wash of cold air sweep over her head. She hoped Bill had not noticed her reaction and was not angry with her also.

"That should do it," said Bill. "Sandflea Skin. I can't believe Fred used that on you." His tone was disgust. Gabrielle was relieved to find the insects and squirming feeling gone.

"(Eh, it was not..) It was not zat bad," said Gabrielle. She did not exactly mean it - it had been awful.

Bill was watching Fred get to his feet. Fred was still moaning and bent over. "Actually, I think I can understand his motivation," he said with a grimace. Bill turned back to Gabrielle with a look of concern, "The bad part hasn't started yet."

"Why's she allowed to cast spells?" demanded Ginny to her father.

"I think I'm start to like the little midget," laughed Ron. He elbowed Harry, "She must have bloody good aim to hit such a tiny target."

"Sod off," groaned Fred.

"What is the meaning of this, young lady?" demanded Mrs. Weasley. "Perhaps your mother knows you better than I realized! Where did you get that wand? And don't think I don't know where you got that cloak! You just... you... Oh! Oh, my."

v - v - v - v - v

"Bellatrix," greeted Severus Snape as he strode into the room. It was not a friendly greeting. "Have you acquired the necessary tonic from Eeylops?" This question was unnecessary, but was an old habit from years of dealing with students. Asking the question, thought Snape, dares them to lie. That creates opportunities.

"You know I have not," replied Bellatrix. She waved an arm at a collection of raggedy clothes. "My disguise is almost complete."

"You are going as an overgrown house-elf?" Snape asked snidely. Dressed as a filthy beggar was the easiest way to increase scrutiny in a well-heeled shop.

"A hag, actually, so my face can be covered," sniffed Bellatrix. "I think this risk is unnecessary."

"Which risk? To you, or to the Dark Lord when a botched concoction is fed to the snake?"

Bellatrix hissed. "Easy to say when you remain hidden here! Brew the elixir yourself, master of potions. It will not help for me to be recaptured."

I could find some joy in it, thought Snape. "You will stand out like that. Hags are rare enough on Knockturn Alley."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"Color your hair and dress in the manner of Narcissa. Plaster a smile on your face; no one will recognize you then," smirked the former spy. Bellatrix scowled at him. "No, that's not quite it. Conjure a mirror to practice. A little small-talk about the weather, or the price of owl treats, and you'll blend into the rest of the insipid, worthless mass of wizardom."

"This is your advice?" asked Lestrange suspiciously.

"My recommendation. As you said, it will not help for you to be recaptured."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle took a deep breath and, moving as little of her body as she could, lowered herself beneath the surface of the warm bath. She had to keep her limbs splayed out, but some sort of cushioning charm from Mrs. Weasley helped. The comforting water was laced with Clan Donnachaidh's Herbal Oat Soak ('Works harder than a guid working dog.'), and it was working wonders in soothing her raw skin. She wondered how you would say that name. The insects had not been bad, only in a creepy, icky sort of way. The angry red pimples, boils, and pustules that had appeared where the insects had come out of the skin, which is to say everywhere, were worse. Even worse than the painful swelling were the open, runny, and excruciating sores where her skin was rubbed. Gabrielle had not been able to move, and could not even keep her eyes open from the inflammation. Mrs. Weasley had hovered her up the stairs. Even moaning had hurt.

If there was a bright spot, thought Gabrielle, it was the sound of the scuffle as George, Bill, and even Ron informed Fred that he had gone too far. That, and that Mrs. Weasley had been forced to cut another of Fleur's horrors to pieces in order to treat her. It was a good thing she had not been wearing her shoes, considered Gabrielle blowing bubbles. What would have happened if she had worn the black undergarment from George?

Gabrielle resurfaced. She probably had oats in her hair, but she didn't care so long as it kept the pain down. Gabrielle gently tried to open her eyes to see if she could. A tiny slit was what she could manage, and it revealed Crookshanks improbably balanced on the edge of the tub. The cat appeared to be sleeping, but Gabrielle did not think  
he could really sleep and stay perched like that. When, wondered Gabrielle, had he arrived?

Gabrielle submerged again in a snit. She felt that her current predicament was entirely Crookshanks' fault. Well, at least half his fault, really, and she did not want the cat staring at her. As much as she believed that though, Gabrielle knew Mrs. Weasley and Maman would not see it like that. Gabrielle realized she was making the assumption that Mrs. Weasley did not intend to tell her Maman and was not using the Floo to do so right now. That was probably a bad assumption given that she had upset Mrs. Weasley twice today. On the other hand, mused Gabrielle, Mrs. Weasley was more forgiving than Maman when it came to, eh, ill-advised behaviors. Gabrielle suspected that she had the twins to thank for that, then wondered what had become of her wand. Maman would not be happy about it. She would need to hide it away before Maman arrived, or she might never be able to use it again. Gabrielle tried to put Maman's reaction out of her thoughts.

Perhaps it was the simmering resentment toward the cat, or the worry over her mother, but the bath was not as soothing as it had been. This was not a good thing, as Gabrielle's face was so covered in boils that she had only been able to manage a painful mumble before and could not really call for help. She slitted her eyes again, but there was no one save Crookshanks.

That cat could help her though. Crookshanks could get Hermione, realized Gabrielle. "Coo'shan', 'et Her-rye-ony," mumbled Gabrielle. The cat opened one eye. "'ease?" whined Gabrielle. Even this bare attempt at speech made her face hurt. It was doubly bad since it wasn't likely that Crookshanks would understand her. "Nee' ze ze, eh, 'ath s'uff." Crookshanks closed his eye again and yawned widely. Gabrielle thought about kicking him but decided that it would hurt her more than him. She sank into the water to try and cool her burning lips.

Surprisingly, Crookshanks rose up and dropped to the floor. Perhaps he regrets his role in this, thought Gabrielle. She was just going to let her eyes close when Crookshanks reappeared at the end of the tub by her feet. The white muslim sack with the dour-looking wizard couple printed on the side, he with a scythe and her with a bundle of purple flowers, dangled from the cat's mouth. He must really feel sorry, thought Gabrielle, to try and get it himself. It was actually very sweet of him, until it proved too much for the feline to handle. Crookshanks managed to claw open the sack, but could not control the contents as they poured out. The entire sackful went  
in. This was followed by the bag then Crookshanks, whose claws were not able to sink into the porcelain as he over-balanced. The cat plunged into the water between her feet, only to hurl himself back up and over the rim an instant later. Gabrielle tried not to laugh as water flew everywhere and Crookshanks mewed tragically, as if there  
were no more chickens left in the world for dinner.

v - v - v - v - v

The bath was quite a bit sludgier than before, but Gabrielle did not mind. The warm paste stuck to her face better, and comforted her greatly. It seemed to be working faster as well. She found that she had to rub it into her hair to reach her scalp, and her fingers and arms barely ached at all from the effort. She could even scoop up handfuls to pour over her face. The gloppy paste felt wonderful sliding down her cheeks.

Suddenly there was a loud pop, and even through the oat mixture clogging her eyes Gabrielle could sense a flash.

"(Yes, this will be quite the photo. Something to entertain guests with at the wedding dinner, perhaps?)" It was Fleur, and Gabrielle froze in mid-dribble. "(I must be there when Maman sees it.)"

Gabrielle sunk below the surface, which was much harder to do this time. She was feeling humiliated, and then angry. How dare Fleur takes pictures of me in the bath, raged Gabrielle to herself.

Fleur was still there when Gabrielle came up for air. "(How are you anyway? Have you succeeded in wrecking my wedding plans? I would have checked on you earlier, but - someone - made a mess of my room. I believe we spoke about what would happen if - someone - did that again. I am led to believe you are painfully sore everywhere so I will be satisfied with that, but I will have William teach me whatever Fred used. Or was that George? No matter.)" Gabrielle started to submerge  
again as Fleur declared, "(You are such a silly little girl. You get a...)" When Gabrielle was forced to come up to breathe again, Fleur seemed to be gone at last.

Now that she was covered in a thick layer of essentially porridge, she started to notice more of its scent. There was more to it than just oats. There was a definite floral influence, probably lavender as the picture on the sack suggested. There was something else to it than that even, thought Gabrielle. It smelled like... warm wool. Suddenly  
she could see it in her mind's eye. The old scythe, runes glinting along its silver blade, sat before her with the fragrant field beyond. The tall stalks were bent under the weight of their heads and swayed hypnotically in the breeze. It was sunny and hot, too hot for the woolen cloak the traditions called for. The oil that lubricated the stone that she was running along the blade tickled her nose with its pungent odor. The blade didn't need sharpening as much as she needed rest. It was the last field, though, and at its end was the herb garden. The wind was right and she could catch the heady mix of herbs and flowers that perfumed the air there. The one she loved would be waiting there with food and drink, like every harvest for so many years. She hefted the scythe, her hands automatically finding the depressions they had worn into the oak handle. She waded into the grain and started the rhythm her muscles knew and her bones defined, and thought back to earlier years. Then, the harvest had not taken as long, which left time for the other refreshments her love could offer. She remembered the sweet smell of the clover in the fallow flower beds when they were a bed not only for the flowers.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle woke with a start, or she would have if she could have moved. She struggled a bit while her anger stoked. Fleur, Gabrielle concluded, had returned and hexed her! While she had apparently dozed, no less. Wedding stress or not, this was really the end. Once she was healed she would get her wand and have it out with her sister. The black lingerie from George would be her secret weapon. If she was close enough, strategized Gabrielle, then Fleur's spells should back-fire like Ron's. Then a hairless hex for her, thought Gabrielle. Once I learn one.

In the meantime she was stuck. She could make a somewhat loud "Hmm" sound, but it did not sound like a cry of distress nor a plea for help. Gabrielle couldn't recall whether or not the door had been left ajar after Fleur had gone, and now she could not open her eyes to see. Hopefully Mrs. Weasley would come and check on her.

It occurred to Gabrielle that this was not the usual Petrificus spell. First, she could struggle, and second, she was able to at least try to speak. She still could not move though. It was like being held down, thought Gabrielle. Or encased. Fleur must have transfigured the  
bath from liquid, or paste at least, to solid. Gabrielle wondered suspiciously if Bill had thought of that.

There was a knock on the door. "Gabrielle! Is it all right to come in? Fred has something to say." That must be George, thought Gabrielle in a panic. I can't have him see me like this.

"Hmm! Hmmm hmm hmm hmmm!" hummed Gabrielle. It did not sound as much like 'No. I'm in the bath.' as she hoped.

"Did you catch that?"

"I thought you had a gift for languages? It sounded like 'uh-hmm, come on in' to me." That was Fred, thought Gabrielle.

"Might've been French. 'onh-hohn. L'homme mange le pomme'."

"What's that mean?"

"Er, it means 'Ohn-hohn. The man eats the apple.' I think."

There was silence for a few moments. "Yeah, that sounds like Gigi. Must have gotten into the firewhiskey again," said Fred. "Let's go in."

The door had been closed, as Gabrielle could hear it start to open. She tried again,"Hmm! Hmm Hmm."

"All right, luv. Calm down. We're coming in," said George.

"And we promise to eat apples later," added Fred.

"So how are you - uh. Heh, heh heh," managed George before he and his brother burst out laughing. At me, smoldered Gabrielle. Again.

"Oy, someone's turned your girlfriend into a digestive biscuit!"

"Hmm. Hmm hmm hmmm, hmm hmm hmmm hmm!"

"D'ya suppose that's a French folksong?"

There was plenty of time to smolder. The twins were easily amused in Gabrielle's opinion. Knocking on the hardened crust, for instance, brought down the house. Finally, George breathed deeply and said, "Right. We should probably get her out of that before Hagrid shows up feeling peckish."

"Hmmm-hmm-hmmm."

"I can do an Earlish Grey tea from my wand," proposed Fred. "Give her a dip and she'll soften right up."

"Hmm, maybe not. The drain's bunged. Earlish Grey?" asked George.

"It's grey at any rate. I've been practicing."

"And you complain about what I drink?"

"Only that muck that smells like an open tin of catfood."

"You know it's not half bad once you get used to it."

"Now there's a sales pitch. I wish we had a House-Breaker with us," sighed Fred.

"She might be a bit close for that," considered George. "We can use a gentle Reducto."

"She might be a bit close for that," replied Fred.

"Come on. This is her head," said George rapping on the shell encasing her. "We'll give it a go by her feet.

"Hmm! Hmm hmm hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm!" called Gabrielle in an unsuccessful bid to get them to fetch Hermione.

"The humming isn't as bad as your singing Gigi, but this could be delicate work requiring loads of concentration. And quiet," said Fred. Stunned, Gabrielle thought, what? I sing very nicely. Her Grandpere always said so.

It didn't feel like delicate work, especially at first. There were large bangs, big shocks, a lot of cursing, and several episodes of shrapnel rattling her oat-helmeted head. Gabrielle wished for Hermione or Mrs. Weasley. The twins worked out the kinks before long, and soon she felt air along the sides of her legs. She still could not move her legs though.

"Bleah. What's this yellow layer?"

"That's probably her skin." Gabrielle felt a gentle tug as more of her leg was freed.

"What? No, you're wrong. See, she still has skin on her." Someone jabbed her thigh which would have made her jump if she was not locked in place.

"A layer of skin then. Which reminds me, you better be apologizing to her." That must be George, thought Gabrielle. Which meant that Fred was the one who poked her. He better not have left a bruise, thought Gabrielle.

"I thought I'd wait until she was up and about," replied Fred. Gabrielle was thinking about what her skin might look like. Then it occurred to her that the twins could see her skin also, and she was in the bath. They had already cleared far up her leg.

"Hmm! Hmmm hmm hmm hmm!"

"I'd apologize sooner. She might go after your bubble-and-squeak again," said George. "I think she just declared that vengeance will be hers." The new skin on her thigh prickled as it was revealed. Her dignity was probably one piece from being lost.

"Hmm! Hmmm hmm hmmm!"

"Vengeance? She bloody well ambushed me," replied Fred. "Here, gimme a hand with this middle bit."

"Hmmmmmm!"

"Budge over then. You've the strength of a flobberworm these days. Less time at the pubs, more time moving stock - 's what you need," said George. "Up she comes." Gabrielle could feel the weird peeling sensation as her modesty was about to be destroyed, and she couldn't help but wonder what George would do then.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy!_" That was Ginny! Gabrielle was sure of it.

"Was that really necessary Ginny?" added Hermione. The coven, thought Gabrielle with relief. The coven had saved her.

Except... George had slumped into the tub. At least she prayed it was George. Gabrielle could feel his hair against her leg. A blush crept down her body as his breath tickled - no, thought Gabrielle heatedly, it caressed her thigh, sending a tingling up her leg. Her heart was hammering. The blush and the tingle met at Gabrielle's middle, and she suddenly wanted, even needed... something. Gabrielle couldn't put into words exactly what she wanted, but she knew a good part of it was George. After she sorted out Fleur, vowed Gabrielle, she would be taking her Grandmere's book back from Ginny for some serious revision!

"I like doing that," replied Ginny to Hermione. "Give me a hand with these lumps." Gabrielle felt George's head pull away, and she groaned softly trying to writhe. There was no need to rush, she thought.

"_Ennervate, ennervate_," incanted Ginny. "Now, what did you two perverts think you were doing?"

"Perverts? This from the girl who wanders the halls starkers? Like an alchemist's daughter punch-line?"

"Careful, or I'll finish what Effy started on," warned Ginny.

"What were you two planning on?" asked Hermione.

"Fred was going to apologize to Gabrielle for that hex when we found her like this. Couldn't just leave her like that," explained George, "no matter how funny it was."

"Sure, sure. Only, why did you start on her legs?" asked Ginny.

"Well we had to work out the way to break this stuff apart, didn't we? We were being careful, thoughtful, mature - all that rot. We weren't going to do anything more to her," continued George.

"Yeah, there was no reason to stun us like that," complained Fred.

"Well I agree with that," said Hermione. "But don't you two see the problem here?"

"Of course. Ginny worked out that she can use her bloody wand," griped Fred.

"No-oo. Beebee is in the bath. What do you imagine she wears in the bath?" There was an embarrassed silence.

"Er. Didn't even think of it," muttered George. Didn't even think of it, repeated Gabrielle wordlessly. The words were a shock, a stab to her heart, and a bucket of cold reality over her inflamed passions. Am I nothing, wondered Gabrielle, in his eyes? The morning now seemed like such a long time ago, thought Gabrielle, but she thought there had been a connection. Her eyes prickled. He didn't even think of it.

No, thought Gabrielle with determination, it is not true. The gifts, the rescues, the sheepish looks when they were close - it all means something, something more. It was the dresses, concluded Gabrielle miserably. They made her look like a silly little girl. Maybe she was too just a silly little girl, but if she could just have one perfect moment with George to make him see then she was sure that he... Would what, stopped Gabrielle in mid-thought, would what? Would wait for her? Would visit Beauxbatons to escort her to the balls?

The dresses needed to be destroyed, that was obvious. She would wear only her housecoat or the quidditch jersey if she had to. Fleur could complain all she wanted, but Gabrielle would not lose her chance. I could just blame Fred, thought Gabrielle. I would try any Wheeze he wanted in return.

Gabrielle's attention returned to the argument happening just outside her oat prison. It seemed like Ginny was losing in her attempt to gain a favor from the twins in exchange for keeping quiet about their attempt at peeping.

"I don't know Gin," said George. "I think keeping Harry at the Burrow is worth a lot more than this."

"There's two of you, though," replied Ginny. "And now I have to put up with Mum leaving bloody bridal magazines all over my room!"

"Brought that on yourself, didn't you? Cavorting in the nuddy like a cheap tart! You're lucky no one suggested packing you off to the Lovegoods," said Fred disapprovingly. "Anyway, George and I will be setting the wards tonight. You do something for us, and maybe we'll go easy on you sex maniacs."

"You utter wanker! It, it isn't like that -"

"Want to try a Truth Mint and say that?" interrupted George.

"Bugger off!" swore Ginny.

"Ginny!" reprimanded Hermione.

"What about Hermione then?" asked Ginny after a moment. "She's here too. She ought to -"

"I want a box," said Hermione quickly.

"A box?" clarified Ginny in surprise. "Er..."

"Two of their boxes, then. They seem dead useful, and I want to study them."

"Done," declared George. "I'll even throw in a list of suggested readings, though most are in Hindi."

"Hermione!" whined Ginny. "You've wasted a golden chance here."

"Hmmm!" hummed Gabrielle. Somehow, even as the cause of the conflict, she had been forgotten.

"Oh! Right then. Let's try this..." said Hermione.

A moment later the dried crust fell from Gabrielle's face. Gabrielle squinted through slitted eyes at the bright light. Nothing hurt on her face, at least at the moment, so she said, "Zank you, very much."

"What was that you used?" asked Fred. "Took us a few tries to work out how to blast this stuff off."

"Urg - is this some of your skin? That's so gross," complained Ginny.

"Oh, well, actually it was just an egg-peeling spell. I got it from your Mum's book of household spells," explained Hermione.

"Fred and George wouldn't know that one. They like to explode the shells off boiled eggs, which is why Mum doesn't make them when they're here," added Ginny.

"Please, can you, eh, get me out?" asked Gabrielle.

"Of course," replied Hermione. She began to free Gabrielle's neck and shoulders.

"Goodbye boys," said Ginny sharply.

"Yeah, yeah. We're going. Better make a start on those wards," said Fred on his way to the hall.

"Oy Fred! You're forgetting something," called George.

"What's that? Okay. Okay," acquiesced Fred when George reached for his wand. "Ahem. Sorry about that Gigi. I went a little too hard on you."

"Zat is true," agreed Gabrielle. Then, feeling that that was perhaps a bit ungracious, she added, "Eh, I am sorry I did ze curse on your, eh, ham and eggs."

"So no hard feelings all around!" enthused George, pushing Fred out of the bathroom. He lingered at the door a bit longer. "You are, er, really all right, luv?"

"Oui, George. Je suis bien."

v - v - v - v - v

Harry paced back and forth across his room. Mad-Eye had assigned him some reading to do after dinner, thrusting a ratty old grimoire at, well, at Bill who then redirected it to Harry. He still felt a twinge of guilt that Ron had started calling the old auror Madder-Eye. At the time the book seemed like a godsend: the perfect excuse to hide himself away after dinner and lay low. Except that a treatise on common wards could not keep his thoughts from the whole courtship, engagement, and marriage progression. Were they really expecting him to do that so soon? Mrs. Weasley seemed to like the idea rather a lot. Did Ginny? She had seemed pretty certain and pretty negative about it. Harry couldn't see how he could have a wedding if Voldemort was still alive - he might not even be able to finish school properly. Then what kind of job could he get? Why, Harry wondered pushing his hair off his forehead, am I even worrying about that? First I'd have to have killed Voldemort. Harry could honestly say that he had not given much thought to getting married other than to note that it was something you possibly did when you were older. But even if that was true, realized Harry, that didn't mean that an engagement wasn't possible earlier. He wondered why Fred seemed to know so much on the topic of rings.

Harry crossed the floor again, this time over to Hedwig. The owl had been swivelling its head back and forth while watching him, and now seemed amused by it all. Pulling out a fresh parchment, Harry dipped his quill and put it to the note. A large ink stain grew as his thoughts failed to organize. He wanted to ask Ginny about engagement and marriage, but definitely did not want to give her the impression that he was actually asking. At the same time, he didn't want to sound too put-off about it, in case Ginny liked the idea. I mean, thought Harry, yes, all right, in the long-term, certainly. He wanted to see Ginny too, but he didn't want her to think it was just for another snog session. Or more. If it worked out that way, though, thought Harry, well more to the good.

A loud hoot from Hedwig pulled Harry from his circling thoughts. He tore the ruined portion of parchment off, and started again.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle raised her hand to knock on the door, froze, and then lowered her arm. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was so quick she was practically panting, and her stomach roiled uneasily. Gabrielle pulled the invisibility cloak back over herself and retreated to the other side of the hall. She needed to calm down. This was her third attempt; the first two times had ended in dashes to the bathroom.

Gabrielle closed her eyes and went over the reasons this would work. It was helpful to imagine Ginny's voice explaining it again and encouraging her. A second thought noted the almost hypnotic cadences, but did not find it suspicious. It would work because, claimed Ginny, who claimed Hermione had explained it, it was all a matter of balance.

Her coven sisters had finally freed her completely from the hardened oats by using a variant of the Bubble-Head charm while she soaked her head, until the re-hydrated paste could be rinsed off. Gabrielle was once again amazed by the breadth of spells Hermione knew. She asked Hermione, shyly, if the older witch could help her with her summoning spell. Hermione had responded with surprise and praise, as that was normally a fourth year spell. Gabrielle beamed with pride. The bushy-haired witch then described how she had tutored Harry on the same spell for the Tri-Wizard tournament.

Gabrielle was magicked dry and inspected: there were still a few small boils behind her knees and ears, but nothing serious or painful. The coven returned to Ginny's room where a tray for Gabrielle was waiting. Ginny explained that she could often tell if her mother was still upset by what was on the tray. A lot of pickled items, for instance, was a bad sign. No pudding, on the other hand, was just a sign that Ron was at home. The 'Waldo' salad under the cover baffled her. Gabrielle asked where Mrs. Weasley was and was told by a scowling Ginny that she was unearthing her old wedding dress in the attic. Hermione suggested that it was a very sweet, traditional gesture, to which Ginny replied that she could probably convince Ron to propose tonight and then it would be Hermione dealing with it. Hermione professed outrage and told Ginny not to be so stupid, but Gabrielle could see the small smile when Hermione turned away from Ginny.

While Gabrielle ate and thought about why Hermione might be attracted to Ron, the coven came through for her once more. Ginny had recovered her little wand, and Harry's cloak. Gabrielle squealed with delight when she held the little wand again before quieting self-consciously. The others laughed, it was true, but more like friends sharing a joke. When Gabrielle finished eating, Hermione gave her some pointers on summoning. Gabrielle still could not work the spell from any real distance, but now she at least had time to duck the object. She summoned Fleur's fashion failures from her trunk that she stood over, and announced she would be burning the lot. That declaration brought laughs from Ginny and gasps from Hermione. When Gabrielle started to ball up the dresses and was clear she was serious about the arson, Hermione tried to convince her that it was a terrible idea. Ginny thought it was a bad idea as well, but offered a better plan: she and Hermione would shrink the dresses, not so much that they did not fit but past the point of decency. Ginny claimed to know Mrs. Weasley's limits quite well. Gabrielle did not think it would work, as Fleur would just undo the charm. Ginny said the key was to place overlapping charms, with the dress shrunk more than you wanted at first, then lengthened. Removing the first spell makes the dress shrink more, and that should fool Fleur. Ginny, at Hermione's astonished look, supplied that the twins used the same trick all the time but with many repetitions. It was the key idea for why trying to end a Wheeze always seemed to back-fire.

They started on the dresses. Gabrielle had to admit a 15cm rise in hem-line certainly changed the character of a dress. She also could see no way of explaining such a drastic change. Surely Fleur would see through the ruse. Hermione, as Ginny tightened the dress across Gabrielle's chest and stomach, also expressed her doubts. Hers were more along the lines of whether the modifications were just past decency, or just plain indecent. She warned Gabrielle to be careful of bending over. Ginny laughed off their concerns, saying Gabrielle could say she had a growth spurt, and that they still had not re-lengthened the dresses.

All that led to where Gabrielle stood now. Her coven sisters had done so much for her, been so kind, that she had begged them to let her help them somehow. Then Ginny asked Hermione about the rituals: was she going to try another with Ron? Hermione turned quite pink after her quick "Oh yeah." Ginny didn't tease though, and asked why she thought it would work still since the 'blood sacrifice' could not be made. The question seemed to surprise Hermione, and she prefaced her reply with, "like I said." She then gave Gabrielle a Look as she said that she hadn't been able to read up on the ritual magic, but she was assuming the balance of the elements was important, along with the intent. If one element was weak, then perhaps emphasizing another would help, theorized Hermione. Ginny pressed for details; Hermione explained that she was going to add runes to the pentagram, and maybe use more candles.

It was after Hermione had gone that Ginny started. Ginny, in a soothing, rhythmic voice, talked about Harry, and about all the things he had done for her family. She told Gabrielle how her parents and her brothers felt about Harry. Gabrielle thought of asking about Percy, but could not bring herself to interrupt. Ginny described Harry's encounters with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the forming of a group called Dumbledore's Army. She said if Harry really was the Chosen One, then helping Harry Potter was the same as helping the Weasley family, as helping all of wizardkind. She said if you loved the Weasley family, were part of the Weasley family, then Harry Potter was part of your family too. Ginny said Harry would risk, had risked, everything to save her, her family, and the ones they loved. It was only right to take a risk to help Harry when he needed it, when family needed it. To protect the Weasleys, you had to protect the Harry Potter. Wasn't it, asked Ginny, worth the risk? Wasn't George worth the risk?

Before Gabrielle could figure out what to say, Ginny suggested the answer. Ginny said that she had messed up the last ritual, and that she would be warded into her room and out of Harry's. She could not perform the ritual that Harry needed in his battle with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the battle to protect all of the Weasleys. Gabrielle, Ginny declared, could. It was a simple, bold statement that shocked Gabrielle into a stuttering protest. Which Ginny ignored. Ginny repeated Hermione's thoughts on the magic, that balance and intent were the key. A pricked finger for the blood would be balanced by Gabrielle being of Veela ancestry. Intent was very important. If Gabrielle cared for Mrs. Weasley, cared for Bill, then she would protect them, would help Harry. If Gabrielle cared for George, wanted to protect George from You-Know-Who, then she had to protect Harry, do the spell on Harry. Ginny explained and elaborated how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named threatened the Weasleys, the wedding and guests, and all of wizardkind. She claimed that Harry was the wizard who could and would stand in You-Know-Who's way, and that Gabrielle was now in a position to help Harry, to help every wizard in the world. She, Ginny concluded, had to do this or all might be lost.

It all made sense to Gabrielle. Hadn't she realized where her fate lay just earlier? Her Grandmere giving her the book was not a mistake. It was her destiny moving the chess pieces of reality into place. Harry had come for her when she was abandoned, now she would come to him. Gabrielle did care for the Weasleys, even Ron. She would do it.

Not, thought Gabrielle as she took slow, deep breaths, without some compromises. Under the cloak she wore her housecoat, and the woolen socks. She had needed to sneak into the kitchen for candles and did not want to be exposed like Ginny. Beneath the housecoat she wore the black undergarment she had received from George. She could not be naked with Harry. Ginny had fretted over it, but had agreed to the lingerie. Even so, Gabrielle knew how sheer it was and it added to her anxiety. She wasn't sure of the time but it felt like hours had past in her dread since she left Ginny's room. It was time to try again. Harry had been told via Hedwig to expect her. Gabrielle stepped up to the door. She closed her eyes this time and thought of George, and tried to remember the feeling of his embrace to give her courage. She raised her hand again, and knocked.

The world exploded in sudden motion, light, and sound. Gabrielle was jerked off her feet and crashed against Harry's door, hanging upside-down. Lights like flashbulbs lit up the hallway over and over again. A siren, like a muggle police saloon, wailed. The candles and chalk dropped to the ground below her. A loud alarm blared repeatedly over the siren, "Fresh tart 'ere! 'Oo wants a little tart?" Gabrielle struggled to close her housecoat and keep it in place as she hung suspended from her ankle. It was all she could do before they were upon her.


	21. Road Trip Again

Chapter Twenty-One - Road Trip Again

"Well now, just who do we have here?" said one of the twins, setting her swinging from behind with his foot. The siren and loud calling abruptly stopped.

"Er, who do we have here?" asked the other twin. A hand grabbed her free leg and she was spun around. "Gabrielle?" blurted George in shock.

"Don't be stupid. It's Ginny with a glamour transfiguration. _Finite Incantatum_," said Fred with a wave of his wand. "_Finite Incantatum! Verofacieum._"

"Just what do you think you are doing, young lady?" thundered Mrs. Weasley from the part of the hall Gabrielle could not see.

"Hmmph. Might be Polyjuice - Mad-Eye's bound to have a stock," muttered Fred.

"Maybe," said George bending to see her face. The blood was starting to rush to Gabrielle's head, hiding the red face she would have had from the embarrassment of being caught by George. And Fred.

"Eh, I am -" began Gabrielle before she was spun around again.

"I thought I made myself clear before! There will be no more - er... Gabrielle," scolded a now stunned Mrs. Weasley. "Gabrielle?"

"I am sorry," apologized Gabrielle. "I..." she started before she was distracted by Fleur, who was slipping from Bill's room.

"I - I don't understand," said Mrs. Weasley. "Why did you do this?"

"Mum, it's Ginny. She's just got her hands on some Polyjuice," insisted Fred. "Crookshanks can catch her out."

"The cat hates you, brother," said George as he spun Gabrielle back to face him. Besides being uncomfortable from the strain of holding the housecoat in place, she was starting to get dizzy as well.

"Please, eh, I would like to come down now?" requested Gabrielle. She could hear a thudding from the stairs that signalled the approach of the creepy Monsieur Moody.

"Here comes just the man we need. A bit of Veritaserum will clear things up. Quicker than waiting for the Polyjuice to fade," announced Fred.

George's arm encircled Gabrielle and she was lifted up as the spell holding her ankle was cancelled. Her feet pivoted to the floor and she clutched George's arm to steady herself. "Zank you, George," said Gabrielle. Since she was already within his arms she turned and embraced him. Remembering the need from before, her body molded itself to his.

"Gabrielle," realized George.

Gabrielle was just settling her head comfortably against George's chest when her arm was grabbed and she was jerked away. "That's quite enough of that!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "Have all the girls in this house forgotten what proper behavior is?"

"It's really not Ginny?" asked Fred disbelievingly. "What's the game this time Gigi?"

"Eh, I - I was..."

"Got Potter's cloak," noted Moody.

"Again!" said the twins together.

"That's for hiding from someone," continued Moody. "Or hiding what you are doing." The larger magical eye zigzagged in its socket as the scarred auror stared at Gabrielle. She stepped backwards against George. "What d'ya want in Potter's room, and why are you dressed like that?"

Gabrielle quickly tightened the housecoat, and turned pink. Exactly what could he see with that eye, wondered Gabrielle aghast. This was Ginny's fault, thought Gabrielle. Ginny had said the wards would be against her only. She had been wrong.

"What 'as she done now?" came Fleur's voice from behind the others. Gabrielle's head came up and she was instantly annoyed at Fleur's attempted subterfuge.

"(I saw you in the hall before - don't you say a thing!)" snapped Gabrielle quickly.

"(Oh yes? I think I am allowed to visit my future - husband - to discuss wedding details. I am not some silly little girl, sneaking into a popular boy's room with futile hopes of winning him over. And with such meager charms!)" retorted Fleur.

Gabrielle gasped, then tilted her chin up. She did not have to take this from Fleur. "(You know nothing! I know you have been doing the 'shagging' and I will tell Maman if you make trouble.)"

"Shagging?" asked Mrs. Weasley in a calm voice that was betrayed by flashing eyes.

"Shagging?" echoed Fred with sudden amusement. "Go on George, master of the foreign word, what was that all about?"

"Shagging?" repeated George in the same tone Mrs. Weasley had used.

Gabrielle spun to face him. "No. It is not, eh, what you are thinking. I was to do, eh, a spell on Harry. It was Fleur -"

"A Veela spell?" ground out George, his hands clenching into fists. "Who put you up to this?"

Gabrielle stared at George, horrified at what he was thinking and at the anger on his face. How could she explain? She had said too much already. It was, thought Gabrielle, Fleur's fault that he was upset, that he was... Jealous, realized Gabrielle. Her heart leapt even as George scowled. George was jealous - he did care. Gabrielle couldn't help herself, and broke into a big smile. That added confusion to George's anger. "George, no. Not like zat."

"Where is Potter anyway?" asked Moody. He was steadying his magical eye with his fingertips, and had his nose almost to the door. "His disillusion can't be that good. 'Course, he learned it from me..."

"What'd I miss now?" asked Mr. Weasley, shuffling toward the crowd in his pajamas. He brushed the thinning red hair from his forehead.

"I must apologize again for Gabrielle's be'avior," said Fleur sweetly. "She eez such an embarrassment" Gabrielle turned toward her sister, livid.

"Harry is missing?" asked Mrs. Weasley before Gabrielle could say anything.

"How could he get past the wards and traps?" asked Fred, looking peeved. "You did cover the window with a Shrieking Sheet, right?"

"Yes, and an Invisible Tangle jinx as well," said George. "If you did the door properly, then he couldn't have left the room without going through the walls."

Mrs. Weasley gasped, "A - a port-key. They must have slipped one past us!"

"Now Molly, there's no good in jumping to conclusions. Perhaps Harry's just taking a walk outside. Er, after breaking the wards..." suggested Mr. Weasley doubtfully.

"I did set him some reading on wards," added Moody. He was now holding both eyeballs with his fingers. Gabrielle could not look at him without feeling somewhat sick.

"Yeah, but he's no Hermione," said George.

"We'll have to search the grounds. Let's pair up - we'll need to get Bill and Ron up. Hermione can help, and Ginny."

"Oh, please, let me be the one to get Pickle up?" asked Fred.

Gabrielle didn't know why Harry was not in his room when he was supposed to be there, but she was pretty sure where Hermione was. She did not want her new mentor to get in trouble also just because Ginny had messed up. Again. Then she remembered. "You can look at ze clock."

"What?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Eh, ze clock zat is, eh, behind ze sofa," explained Gabrielle

"That old thing? It hasn't worked for months now."

"No. It does. I saw it. Ze, eh, hands move now. Except for one."

"That would be Harry-kin's. He's big on Mortal Peril," joked George.

"No. It is Percy who is, eh, stuck. On Lost," clarified Gabrielle. All eyes snapped to her. There were sharp intakes of breath, but nobody said anything. The air in the hall was filled with that lack of sound.

Finally Fred cleared his throat and said, "I'll, uh, just nip down and get it." He strode past Gabrielle and through the others. In his wake, Mr. Weasley moved to his ashen wife and placed his arm around her waist. Fleur moved down to Bill's door, knocking quietly. The family's reaction surprised Gabrielle at first. Then it came to her that while she was thinking of the Ministry and labyrinths, it could be that the clock meant what came after Mortal Peril instead. Gabrielle paled, and stood closer to George. He absently put a hand on her shoulder.

Fred returned shortly, trudging down the hall staring at the clock before him. When he reached his parents, he silently handed them the clock. Fred, George, and now Bill crowded around.

"Oh my God," breathed George.

"Damn," added Bill. "Damn, damn."

"No!" blurted Mrs. Weasley abruptly. "No. I don't believe it. This clock - it's useless, broken, didn't do a thing for a year. I won't believe it."

"Mum - " started Bill.

"No. Don't. I won't hear of it! Get this - this piece of rubbish out of this house!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. She threw the clock to the floor.

"Boys - do as she says. Put it in the shed, will you?" said Mr. Weasley. He leaned to Bill and whispered, "Still, wouldn't hurt to check. Meet me downstairs after I get our mother to bed." Tugging at Mrs. Weasley's arm, he said to her, "Come along, Molly. You've had an awful fright. Let's get a little something in you."

"What about Harry?" asked Mrs. Weasley, pulling away from her husband and suddenly frantic.

"The, er, clock has him still at the Burrow," reported Fred.

"That's a relief at least," sighed Mrs. Weasley.

"I zought you said zat ze clock was - " began Gabrielle. She continued speaking but no sound came out. She immediately sought out Fleur for a deadly glare.

"Sorry about that, luv," whispered George next to her ear. "It's best to just leave it for now. _Finite Incantatum._"

"Potter," barked Moody. Gabrielle jumped at the exclamation. Harry had just reached the top of the stairs. He put his hands behind his back.

"Er, what's all the fuss?" asked Harry.

"Where were you?" demanded Mrs. Weasley crossly.

"How did you get through the wards?" added Fred.

"Wards? Oh, er, right. The wards. Er, there's a trick to getting by them," said Harry. He tapped the side of his nose.

"What, you used bogeys?" teased George. "The shop's given us a lot of practice on setting wards - have to keep inventory safe, don't you know. What did you do?"

"Never mind how he got out," said Mrs. Weasley. "I want to know where he has been."

"Yeah," said Bill coldly. "If he can get out, then he could get in - somewhere else."

Harry looked at the Weasleys ranged against him, put on a sheepish look, and brought forth the sandwich he had been holding behind his back. "I was feeling a bit peckish..."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle woke up slightly confused. This was the result of waking up in a different location than she had fallen asleep. She was now on her bed in Ginny's room and not on the sitting room's sofa. She recalled the previous night.

Mrs. Weasley had been satisfied with, almost proud of, Harry's excuse, and Mr. Weasley had then guided her back to their bedroom. Mr. Weasley had emerged a short while later, then left with Bill after asking the twins to stay until he returned. Moody stomped off, his hand skimming the wall to stabilize his course. Fleur returned to her room after Bill had gone. Gabrielle guessed that was because there was no one for Fleur to try and get Gabrielle in trouble with.

That left George, Fred, Harry, and Gabrielle in the hallway. The twins eyeballed Harry. They did not seem to believe that he had needed a sandwich. Harry stood his ground. Gabrielle noticed that he hadn't actually eaten any of the sandwich though. Finally, after George and Fred had apparently exhausted all their intimidating looks, they just grinned at Harry and told him that he had won the side. George picked up the family clock. Harry picked up his cloak from the hallway, and followed the twins back downstairs to wait for word from Mr. Weasley. Gabrielle picked up the candles and trailed behind unnoticed.

George and Fred settled on the sofa in the sitting room. Harry dropped into the chair. Gabrielle paused at the door, not actually sure she was welcome. She announced that she would make some tea. It was a very expected course of action in the Weasley household, and would give her a reason to be there. She went across the entryhall to the kitchen.

The kitchen was dark, but that was only a small nuisance. Gabrielle untangled the little wand that was jammed into a pocket on her housecoat. The wand, short and of a blond wood, did not fit well. It had already begun forcing its way through a seam, which, Gabrielle realized, is why it had not fallen out before. She conjured a tiny

blue flame on its tip and transferred the flame to a candle. Then, she checked the wand to see if it had been singed at all. Gabrielle went on conjuring flames for the rest of the candles, for practice.

Gabrielle prepared the teapot first, then found the kettle from her Maman. It was grumpy from being awakened, which Gabrielle thought was ridiculous. Why would it need to sleep? The kettle became much grumpier when Gabrielle prodded it with her wand but, as it also became sullen instead of snippy, Gabrielle did not care. It gave her the boiling water she needed, although she had to keep after it. This made her happy until she realized that her Maman would not allow her the wand and that she would have to hide it.

When the tea was ready, Gabrielle added some cheese and crackers to the tray. She brought it into the sitting room and squeezed past George to set in on the low table in front of the sofa. Then she sat down in the open spot. It just happened to be between George and Fred.

Harry and the twins were making forced conversation, like the families who came to the hospital and crowded around the insensible in the neighboring beds. It was particularly strained as the twins still suspected Harry of nefarious activities. Gabrielle, on the other hand, was beginning to suspect that Ginny was behind the night's debacle and had planned everything. The interaction was less stilted when they began discussing the British Ministry. The way Harry spoke, thought Gabrielle, it made it seem as if the Minister himself sought him out.

Gabrielle knew she had fallen asleep once, since she had woken up with her head on George's lap and her feet tucked under Fred's. It was undoubtedly not proper, but comfortable. She had not moved. Eating Harry's sandwich had probably made her sleepy. Gabrielle knew she had missed Mr. Weasley's return, and any news.

"He didn't stay," said Ginny suddenly with a yawn. The interruption to Gabrielle's thoughts brought her back to the present.

"Eh, who? Did not stay?" asked Gabrielle.

"George. I assume that's what you were wanting when you wouldn't let him loose after he carried you in," explained Ginny. "It was very embarrassing." Gabrielle fell back onto her pillow, then moved it to cover her head. That is completely mortifying, thought Gabrielle. I might as well die. The worst part is not even remembering any of it, moped Gabrielle. I hope it was in French.

"Do you think they lifted the wards?" asked Ginny as if speaking to someone buried under a pillow was quite normal. "The whole bathroom, er, thing seemed a bit dodgy."

Gabrielle could not have cared less about the wards. They had not stopped her from leaving to make a fool of herself. The wards, suspected Gabrielle, had probably not stopped Harry from entering Ginny's room either. Now that she had thought it, though, Gabrielle felt worse than ever. It was obvious that Ginny had tricked her. Ginny

had played her for the fool, and she had been a true fool for falling so completely for the ruse. And even when it seemed like everyone would overlook her actions, Gabrielle had managed to make herself an even bigger fool.

"Er, I tell them you won't be coming down then, shall I?" asked Ginny lightly. Gabrielle felt she should be really angry with Ginny for what Gabrielle suspected the older girl had done, but she was too miserable right now. She did not answer Ginny. Gabrielle could hear Ginny getting ready to leave and wished she would hurry. "He gave you a good-night kiss," announced Ginny.

The wards had been removed, so Ginny's shield spell after flinging open the door with a crash had been unnecessary. Gabrielle barely noticed. She was trying to decide if Ginny was teasing her or telling the truth. If George really had kissed her, ruminated Gabrielle, then why had he done so? Had he been overwhelmed by her closeness and been unable to stop himself from stealing a kiss? Or had it been more a fatherly kiss like she got when she was a child? Placement, decided Gabrielle, was the important, and unknown, factor. Had it been on the forehead, like when Papa said good-night? Or had it been on the cheek, like her Aunt would do? Or had it been, she thought with a sigh, on the lips? Gabrielle wished there was someone besides Ginny to ask.

Gabrielle felt better for the news, so she uncovered her head. She looked for her pet to cheer her up more, then guiltily remembered that she had left Pepi in the box in her handbag. Gabrielle pulled the box out of the handbag and uncovered Pepi's cage, removing the dragon-hide gloves. Gabrielle lifted out the little cage and knew at once something was wrong. The tiny puffskein did not peep or roll around as before; its only movement came when Gabrielle tilted the cage. The creature's long pink tongue disappeared into the box. Oh no, thought a horrified Gabrielle, I have killed him. Tears blurred her vision.

Gabrielle discovered that Pepi's tongue was caught on something. She excavated the galleons from Fred, and followed the tongue to the bottle from Monsieur O'Beirne. Pepi's tongue had wormed its way through the cork on the bottle of firewhiskey. The bottle was definitely not as full as it had originally been. Gabrielle pried gently at the cork until it loosened. Once it was clear of the sharp smelling liquid, Pepi's tongue retracted part way, pulling the cork with it. He, if he really was a he, was still alive! She could save him.

Gabrielle placed Pepi and his dangling cork into her housecoat pocket and raced downstairs. She slid down the banisters, stopping herself against the wall at each landing because of the socks. When she reached the bottom floor, she slid halfway across the entryhall then charged for the kitchen door. Gabrielle made to burst through the door but it stopped abruptly with a crunching sound, and she flattened herself against the door before tumbling back.

Gabrielle rubbed her head and shoulder. There was quite a bit of cursing going on in the kitchen - she would need to do a lot of apologizing. It was a good thing Maman is not here yet, thought Gabrielle. She checked on Pepi. His condition had not changed. She would feel better if she could see him breathing, though.

Pushing open the kitchen door more slowly, Gabrielle slipped into the eating area. The auror Tonks was kneeling over Monsieur Moody. She seemed to be wrestling him with one arm while trying to cast spells with the other. Gabrielle cringed at the blood running down his face. Perhaps it looks worse than it is, hoped Gabrielle.

"As predicted," announced Fred, looking very pleased. Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked up at her. Fleur sent a death-look from her spot beside Bill.

"I am sorry!" blurted Gabrielle. The old auror was extremely agitated. "Eh..." She was distracted by the vast mountain of food in the table. Who else would be here?

"Saw that one coming," laughed George. Gabrielle felt her face redden. It was an accident, thought Gabrielle. It could have happened to anyone.

"Let me up Tonks," growled Mad-Eye. "Do the healing after the battle!" He tried to throw the pink-haired witch off.

"There is no battle! And Pomfrey will wrap you like a mummy if you don't let me fix you up," argued Tonks from atop him. "If your eyes are worse now..."

"My eyes are fine! Let me up!" bellowed Moody. He suddenly froze. "My eyes are fine?" Tonks took that opportunity to heal the gash on his forehead and to fix his nose with an unintentional and painful-looking jab of her wand. If the scarred wizard even noticed, though, he did not show it.

"(Thank goodness this is the last day you will embarrass our family without consequence,)" scolded Fleur. "(Maman will see for herself!)"

"Up and doing!" roared Moody. "That's the way! Isn't that what I've been saying? Pomfrey can coddle her students if she wants - action is what I need."

"Can I fix your eyes next time then?" asked Fred. "Still got my beaters bat somewheres."

"(If you can not be properly dressed as you have been taught,)" reminded Fleur, "(at least close your housecoat properly.)" Gabrielle looked down. The knot closing the housecoat had come mostly undone, from running or the collision, and gapped at the top. Gabrielle quickly tightened it, and remembered why she had been running.

Dashing over to the twins, Gabrielle pulled Pepi from her pocket and held the puffskein out to them. "Pepi, 'e is sick! What do I do?"

"Get a new one? Only six knuts a piece," suggested Fred. Gabrielle gave him an eviscerating glare.

"Eeylops is probably the best bet, luv," replied George. "Any idea what's wrong with it? Aside from the tongue stuck in the cork, I mean." George poked at the red fur ball with his wand, then tapped the cork. The cork grew until it was five times its original size, which was sufficient to allow the puffskein's tongue to be extracted.

"He got into ze firewhiskey Monsieur O'Beirne gave me," explained Gabrielle. "Can you take me to zis Eeylops place?"

"Firewhiskey? Doesn't an O'Beirne run the Mended Wand on Diagon Alley now?" asked Tonks.

"Not firewhiskey again," moaned Ginny to Harry. "She was a handful last time."

"Er, might have heard something about that," said George dismissively, though he looked at Gabrielle with pleading eyes. Gabrielle, looking at the still Pepi, did not notice. Fred began to snigger.

"Pepi drank zis much," said Gabrielle showing the lost amount with her fingers. "I forgot to take him out of ze box wiz ze bottle and ze gift from Monsieur, eh, Lunky."

"Lunky?" mused Tonks. "She can't mean -"

"I've got a great idea!" interrupted George. "I'll take him there. You go ask Mum if you can come along to Diagon Alley, while Fred and I, er, look for a, er, basket to carry it in. Come on Fred." George stood up. Gabrielle smiled brightly - George would save Pepi. She started moving toward the kitchen proper.

"I'm not done eating here," complained Fred.

"You will be if she keeps talking," muttered George just on the edge of Gabrielle's hearing.

v - v - v - v - v

The kitchen proper was full of house-elves. Three manned the stove, two wielded four knifes and chopped enthusiastically, and four more prepared plates decoratively. Dobby sat atop the icebox looking very pleased. Mrs. Weasley sat by the window at the back door, staring listlessly out into the yard. Gabrielle decided that the news from Mr. Weasley had not been good. At the same time, the news could not have been bad either, or surely the siblings would have shown some reaction.

"Eh, Mrs. Weasley? Mrs. Weasley, Pepi is sick. I can go to Diagon Alley? Wizz George and Fred?" asked Gabrielle.

Mrs. Weasley shook herself out of her thoughts. "I'm sorry dear. What did you say?"

"Pepi is sick. I need to go to Diagon Alley, please." Gabrielle tried to look grave.

"Pepi? Who on earth is Pepi?"

"He is ze pygmy puffskein zat George gave me. He is red," replied Gabrielle. "George said zat Pepi should go to Eeylops."

"Don't be silly, dear. It's too dangerous these," and here her voice sounded strained, "days for such a frivolous trip."

"George and Fred, zey could take me," began Gabrielle.

"No. You had your little lark yesterday - I have not forgotten that, young lady! There's too much work to -" Two elves appeared at the matron's side with a pop, looking hopeful. "There's too much going on to organize a trip today. Your mother and father will be arriving today as well. Make sure you are presentable," said Mrs. Weasley as a dismissal. "I'll not have them think poorly of us."

Gabrielle would have argued that George and Fred would be able to get her there and back with little disruption, but it was obvious that Mrs. Weasley was too upset over what might have happened to Percy. Also, the elves were getting assignments, so Gabrielle went back to the table. It would have been nice, thought Gabrielle, to have

walked with George again.

At the table, Fred and Tonks were arguing over who would not answer whose questions first. George as not at the table anymore. Gabrielle fetched a place-setting and took George's spot next to Fred. She was pleased to discover that the seat was still warm.

"(What are you doing?)" asked Fleur sharply. Gabrielle quickly looked down to see if her housecoat had come open again, then up at Fleur. She had been trying to spear one of the kippers, just to see that it was like.

"(Nothing,)" replied Gabrielle.

"(Go and dress properly. Maman is arriving today; you may as well start acting like you have manners,)" advised Fleur.

"(Fine!)" snapped Gabrielle. She had not forgotten what Fleur had done yesterday. Gabrielle snatched up a 'banger' from the platter, stuffed it into her mouth so that half stuck out, and turned to go. She ignored Fleur's gasps and outrage.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle headed back downstairs in one of the shrunken dresses. She felt compelled at each landing to tug the hem down. The dress, a dark velvet-and-lace horror, had always been ugly; now it was ugly and uncomfortable. She still wore the black undergarment from George, but the bottom of it needed to be cuffed to make sure it was concealed properly. The knife from Gaston fit into a pocket. Her wand did not. Gabrielle had knotted some ribbon around it as tightly as she could and wore it around her neck. It was not the ideal solution as it poked her.

When she reached the kitchen she pushed open the door carefully. She had not yet taken two steps toward the table when Fleur stopped her.

"(What have you done now?)" demanded Fleur.

"(Eh, nothing,)" replied Gabrielle. She noticed George was back at the table. She had thought he had rushed Pepi to Diagon Alley.

"(You look ridiculous! Come over here so I can make you presentable,)" said Fleur in a peeved tone.

"(It is ugly and childish, but it is all I have to wear now,)" complained Gabrielle. She was pleased to note that there was a place between the twins for her. George had the strangest expression on his face, thought Gabrielle. She stood in front of Fleur.

"(How did this happen?)" muttered Fleur more to herself as she examined Gabrielle.

"(I, eh, am still growing?)" suggested Gabrielle. Would this work?

Fleur raised her wand, then turned white. "Molly!" cried Fleur. "MOLLY!"

"(What is wrong?)" asked Gabrielle, growing alarmed. "(Have you lost your senses?)"

"Which one was the deranged one again?" asked Fred.

"(Why did you do this? Why must you ruin everything for me?)" shouted Fleur, bursting into tears.

Bill was quickly on his feet. "What is wrong, my flower?"

That was more than Gabrielle was prepared to accept. "(Pull yourself together! You are pathetic.)"

"What's all the shouting about?" asked Mrs. Weasley from the doorway.

"A galleon says one of them ends up bleeding," offered George.

"Look at 'er!" shouted Fleur.

"Blimey she's a nutter," whispered Ron.

"You used to drool over her," noted Hermione smugly.

"Honestly, dear. It is easy to fix," said Mrs. Weasley calmly. "I believe you know the fabric spells." The Weasley matriarch pulled out her wand.

"She can wear ze rags she wore yesterday, for all zat I care!" raged Fleur. "Why 'as she done zis?"

"I am permitted to grow," asserted Gabrielle. That was not a lie at all.

Mrs. Weasley aimed her wand at the bottom of the dress, and lowered the hem by a couple of inches. "I think you are over-reacting just a bit, dear."

"Ze bridesmaid dress!" shrieked Fleur. She seized Gabrielle by the shoulders and began shaking her. "You 'ave done zis on purpose! You should 'ave grown before ze fitting! You ruin everyzing!"

Gabrielle was in no mood for Fleur's histrionics. She had put up with quite enough this week. Gabrielle wrenched herself out of her sister's grasp, then spun back. She landed a resounding slap on Fleur's face.

"Didn't I say I liked her?" whispered Ron.

Gabrielle went from angry to shocked in a moment. Hands to her face she immediately said, "I am sorry!" Bill stepped between Gabrielle and his fiancee, lifting Fleur's face up.

"You owe me a galleon, brother," said George smothering his laughter.

"Eez eet bad?" croaked Fleur as Bill pulled his wand.

"There's nothing that can't be fixed. Let Mum handle the dress," soothed Bill.

"Everyzing - eet needs to be parfait," pleaded Fleur.

"No - it is impossible. Only you are perfect; everything else is less in comparison," murmured Bill as he held Fleur.

"That kind of talk can really put a bloke off his feed," groaned Fred to George. It was not quiet enough, and Bill glared over the top of Fleur's head.

It was a little much for Gabrielle as well, and she opened her mouth to demand an apology from her sister. I might be less, thought Gabrielle, but I am not nothing. She attacked first. Before Gabrielle could say a word though, Mrs. Weasley gripped Gabrielle's shoulder and turned Gabrielle toward her.

"Leave it for now, dear. Family means so much."

v - v - v - v - v

The arrangement of a visit to Madame Malkin's shop was cause for great commotion. Even though Gabrielle had been to Diagon Alley only yesterday with just George and Fred, that was not sufficient today. The auror Moody was particularly in his element, spinning wild plans for crisscrossing the whole of the country. It was beginning to make Gabrielle more than a little worried, since if she had grown it was not by much and when they got to the shop the ruse would be found out, and all the effort would be wasted and she would be blamed. Burning the dresses would have been much simpler, decided Gabrielle. It was something else that was Ginny's fault.

Fortunately, neither Mrs. Weasley nor Fleur could be spared from the preparations. Since it was unlikely that any of the wizards would risk stepping into the shop, there was a good chance any witches who did would either already know or be sympathetic. The current plan called for a broom flight to Liverpool to pick up a Ministry car. The car would take them to the village of Killifish. From there, line-of-sight apparition would get them to another two Ministry cars - one would be a decoy. There was more, but Gabrielle had lost interest. She was imagining riding with Harry on his famed Firebolt. Then Gabrielle felt a little guilty because she had not imagined riding behind George. But after all - the Firebolt!

As quickly as the plans had been made, realized Gabrielle, circumstances undid them. The arrival of Madame Pomfrey, for instance,removed poor Monsieur Moody from the planning process altogether. Madame Pomfrey did not believe that his eyes were fine, and she glared at Gabrielle after examining his new wounds. The medi-witch slipped him a potion that left him singing about a woman he had once known. Gabrielle had recognized two of the devotions in the lyrics before he was bustled off to bed. Gabrielle had to drink a foul-tasting potion as well, just in case. Or probably, as punishment.

That left the Weasley siblings, save for Bill who had left with a clinging Fleur, Hermione, Harry, Tonks, and Gabrielle sitting at the table. Even with the efforts of Ron and the twins, there was still a vast amount of food. Gabrielle felt she could have eaten a plate or two herself, except the potion did not go well with the kipper she had finally had. She was feeling queasy.

"This is pathetic," said Harry flatly. "We can't even manage a trip to London now. It's like he's already won."

Tonks looked up from the newspaper she had pulled from her robes. "Ever hear of the W.A.S.I party, then? They're pushing to create more areas like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley."

"And to eventually force muggles into concentration camps," interjected Hermione. "Yes, I've read about them."

"I don't know what camping has to do with it," shrugged Tonks. "But you can't really pick politicians based on the party goals - that's just blather really. I'm more interested in having some good real estate come up."

"That's incredibly short-sighted," declared Hermione.

"It's not when you're thinking of getting - er," stopped Tonks. Her hair suddenly changed to a darker hue of pink.

"Yes? Getting what?" asked Ginny quickly.

"Erm - oh, you know, getting a house. It's real estate, right? Anyway, say what you will, but the party has been pulling in wizarding families who were on the fence. There was even a Death Eater who surrendered and renounced You-Know-Who. Said he wanted to join the W.A.S.I party - liked the way the Chairman did things."

"Ah yes, the Chairman. A mysterious wizard few have seen is gathering followers by promoting an agenda of prosperity now and genocide later," sneered Hermione.

"Er, yeah. I can't see how a Death Eater liking the way something was done would be a plus," supported Ron.

"Well, if you put it like that," said Tonks in consternation. "Oh, here. Speaking of the Chairman, the gossip column says - oh no - that he's fallen rather ill. Scrofulus, maybe."

"What happened to the Death Eater?" asked Harry.

"Him? Protective custody, of course. The Ministry is investigating whether they can link him to any attacks," replied Tonks. "Can't say much else - active case."

"What else is in the Prophet? How'd the Cannons do?" asked Ron.

"And you call yourself a supporter?" asked George. "They were playing the Wasps. How do you think they did?"

"Right, right," said Ron with a heaving sigh.

"There's a report on the eight Death Eaters caught last night," announced Tonks. "It doesn't say, of course, but it was after an attack on a muggle football pitch. They had brought down a third of the stadium before help arrived."

"Why? Why would they do that?" asked Harry.

"'S obvious, isn't it. To be a Death Eater you gotta be a bit evil to start with, and to want to get closer to You-Know-Who you have to be stupid as well," said Ron. "Think of Crabbe and Goyle, and the way they'd be if someone taught 'em to use their wands. They'd want to show off."

"Funny you should mention Goyle. Junior was one of the eight," noted Tonks.

"So killing muggles is a Death Eater pissing match?" asked Harry.

"Probably, but it also puts pressure on the British Minister, who puts pressure on Scrimgeour," explained Hermione. "It weakens the Ministry of Magic that they can't deal with the problem."

"Like the muggle Minister would be able to handle it better," scoffed Ron.

"Think muggles are harmless?" asked Hermione sharply. "The French magical villages were hidden like Hogsmeade is today. The three in the Ardennes were obliterated by the German thrust and the American counter, by muggle weapons." Gabrielle knew of them: This-sur-Meuse, Epiphanie, and Les Trois-Tetes - they had all been lost. Her paternal grandpere would tell of his visits to This-sur-Meuse before the war.

"What, through the wards?" asked Ron.

"Wards work by identity and intention, you dope. They can't stop artillery shells blown off course," lectured George.

"The right shield spell would stop them, but that's an active magic. You couldn't hold it for long," added Fred. "The shelling would've gone for hours."

"I used to laugh at Dad for playing with that muggle stuff," admitted George. "But if we could figure out how to duplicate a tenth of it we'd skip buying clothes and wear the galleons instead. It's like the car in the shed - Dad can make it fly, but how the engine uses petrol to move is just beyond him."

"There's a car in the shed?" asked Harry.

v - v - v - v - v

There was another plan. George and Fred would apparate to Diagon Alley, and then take up strategic positions in the Leaky Cauldron. After, reminded Gabrielle crossly, bringing Pepi to Eeylops as George said he would. Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Gabrielle would take Mr. Weasley's car to London. Hermione could drive - she was amazing, thought Gabrielle. Tonks could not go as she was expected to work with Kingsley Shacklebolt later. Ginny wanted to go, very badly. She spent a lot of effort trying to convince Tonks to lie to Mrs. Weasley. Ginny wanted Tonks to say she would go and then disguise herself as Ginny, or help Ginny disguise herself as Tonks, so that Ginny could take her place. The auror would not go along with the plan though, since she liked eating at the Burrow.

It was a good plan. It was utterly disapproved of by Mrs. Weasley.

"No. It's far too risky, and there should be adult -" started Mrs. Weasley.

"We are adults," interrupted Harry.

"You are not of age and - "

"I have a decree from the Minister saying I am, and Ron and Hermione certainly are," argued Harry. "There are no restrictions."

"I restrict you! If you leave like that, no one will know where you are!"

"That's the point, right? No one outside this kitchen knows we are leaving, and how. We'll go by muggle routes and just be one of a thousand cars on the road," explained Harry. "Do you trust everyone at the Ministry?"

"No, but, er, but... What about when you arrive? There could be spies," reminded Mrs. Weasley.

"I'll stay under the cloak. The whole time. This is the safest way, Mu - Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. Gabrielle wondered why Harry was doing all the convincing until that point. Mrs. Weasley's faced all but twitched as a parade of emotions passed over her. She turned away, but Gabrielle could see her dab her eye. "And Ginny comes with us."

"What? Absolutely not!" roared an outraged Mrs. Weasley. Ron, Gabrielle noticed, took a step behind Hermione after Mrs. Weasley had spun back around. It was stupid - how could he hide behind her when he was more than a head taller? "She's still a child." Oh no, thought Gabrielle, it'll be Ginny exploding next. She's already reddening.

"So is Gabrielle. Someone needs to stay with her, and Ginny's already fought Death Eaters twice," argued Harry loudly.

"There you go, that's a reason right there!"

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione drove like Monsieur Toulier. That is, she kept her distance from the other cars on the road and kept pace with traffic instead of squeezing between gaps to race ahead. It was familiar to Gabrielle, and she settled back into the Vauxhall's seats to watch the scenery. The car was large, plush, and very roomy inside. Possibly it was roomier than it had been originally. Gabrielle wondered where Mr. Weasley had gotten it. It seemed out of place at the Burrow. There were a half dozen large blue buttons, obviously added by Mr. Weasley, arranged on either side of the steering column. Their functions were not labelled and George had recommended not pushing them.

Gabrielle sat in the back next to Ginny, who was between her and Harry. Ron was up front. He had given up looking at the maps and was encouraging Hermione to overtake other cars so he could see who was driving. Gabrielle had plenty of space, since Ginny leaned against Harry. Mrs. Weasley had given in, given permission for Ginny to go, after an epic argument with Harry. Mrs. Weasley had raged, but Harry had not provoked her as Ginny had done, so she had never heated to full boiling. Harry had, instead, peppered her with reasons and rationalizations - even non sequiturs. When things got too hot, hinting at weddings and grandchildren changed the mood. It was, thought Gabrielle in an epiphany, like when he battled the dragon in the first task. He had not attacked the dragon so much as confused it before taking his prize. So it had been with Mrs. Weasley. Harry had some how gotten Mrs. Weasley to declare that the Weasley family always fought for those they loved, then he had swooped in to claim Ginny. Mrs. Weasley had stumbled back to the kitchen proper to regroup. George and Fred had knelt down in front of Harry with their foreheads on the ground, declared themselves unworthy, and begged him to teach them the Way.

Gabrielle also had plenty of space because Dobby had left. They had addressed Mrs. Weasley's concern about communication by asking Dobby to come along, which Dobby thought was a most excellent idea. The little elf, dressed in an old jumper from Ron, had disappeared immediately. He returned just as the others had concluded that he had not heard them properly. Dobby returned with a struggling, older elf who he installed on the top of the icebox. The older elf crossed his arms and crossed his legs and looked really cross, but he stayed there. "Someone has to watch," was Dobby's only explanation.

Unfortunately, and unexpectedly, Dobby became car-sick at any speed much above a run. After the third stop for the house-elf to be sick, which was followed by the third race to prevent him from hitting his head on whatever was handy, Dobby tearfully apologized and begged, if Harry Potter would ever forgive him, to just walk. Harry tried to explain about the speeds and distances involved, but Dobby said he would be able to keep the car in view and would be fine.

They made good progress after that, and had just gotten onto the M5 motorway, when Ron became bored of constantly changing the wireless set in the front shelf of the car. He slid over and leaned across Hermione.

"Cor! You've got a lot of buttons on your side," noted Ron. Gabrielle's window opened of its own accord. It surprised her since Hermione was using a cooling charm or something to keep the car comfortable.

"Ron - don't. There's a lot of traffic," warned Hermione. Gabrielle put her hand into the airstream and day-dreamed about the Firebolt. A cousin once told her that a fast broom ride was like a trip by floo, only you did not have to decide where to go first. The ride Fleur had given her, when she had slipped off, had not been very fast. Gabrielle wondered if the Firebolt could take her as fast as the explosion in the Floo Fiasco had.

"Do you need any help steering? I've driven before, you know. Here - lemme - "

"Ron Weasely! Touch the steering again and I'll hex you!" shouted Hermione.

"With that death-grip you've got on it?" asked Ron. "You couldn't draw your wand." There was a few moments of peace, during which Gabrielle determined that an appropriate penance for Ginny's trickery would be having her convince Harry to offer a ride. "You smell nice," whispered Ron.

"Yes. I've showered. Today. Ron," hinted Hermione.

"It's that reeking potion," huffed Ron. "What's this do?" The car suddenly veered to the right. Gabrielle grabbed at the window opening to steady herself, and the window closed on her hand. In retrospect, this did not even hurt much. But all Gabrielle saw at the moment was a guillotine-like sheet of glass about to slice off her hand, and she screamed piercingly. Hermione swore and jerked the car back to the left, then she swerved left again until the car braked to a stop on the margin. The window was still closed on Gabrielle's wrist, but her initial panic had passed when the window ceased rising. Ginny was trying to unwedge Gabrielle's hand while the movement of the car rocked her coven sister to and fro.

"Right. _Incarcerous!_" called Hermione. "It's the boot for you!" Hermione got out of the car to get to Ron's side when she noticed Gabrielle's predicament.

"Does Miss need Dobby's help?" asked Dobby. The voice came from beneath the car. Hermione sighed and jabbed a button, and the window trapping Gabrielle's hand opened.

v - v - v - v - v

Ron was not put in the boot, but he and Gabrielle swapped places. After, of course, Gabrielle was made to swear that she would not touch anything. Gabrielle, embarrassed by her earlier outburst, agreed completely. Ron complained that he couldn't see anything anymore, that the conjured ropes were too tight, and that if he was driving they'd be halfway there by now. Harry suggested they stop for a big bag of crisps or use a silencio - either would shut him up. Hermione switched on the wireless and turned the volume way up.

There were a lot of buttons, far more than there were in Monsieur Toulier's car. Gabrielle now could see, or rather feel, that the cold air was coming from slots in front of her. Hermione seemed to be at ease with all the mechanisms surrounding her. Gabrielle was once again impressed by what Hermione knew and decided that she would learn to drive a muggle car as well. She remembered that the twins were interested in cars also. She could ask Hermione where she had learned to drive.

Actually, thought Gabrielle, there were a lot of things she wanted to talk to Hermione about. There was learning to drive, learning a hairless hex for Fleur, and learning what other basic spells she should know for school. Gabrielle could ask about how the house-elves had behaved, or they could discuss French history - in French. This was a good opportunity, thought Gabrielle excitedly, as they had hours to go. Except, Hermione looked like she was concentrating on driving. Would she want to talk?

Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Eh, Hermione? Eh, can I ask you somezing?"

"Of course," answered Hermione. Her eyes never left the road ahead. "What is it?"

Gabrielle paused to try to decide where to start, and Ron started kicking her seat, possibly in time to the music on the wireless. Gabrielle had thought he was going to start being nicer to her. Hermione repeated her question and Gabrielle, wondering how anyone could put up with Ron, blurted, "What do you see in him?"


	22. Errands

Chapter Twenty-Two - Errands

The awkwardness of the moment, and Hermione's stony silence, lasted until the car was headed east on the M3. Hermione then released Ron from the ropes, and Ginny facilitated an argument between Harry and Ron about quidditch. That seemed to cheer Hermione up, and she turned down the wireless. Gabrielle had noticed that the wireless and the car both made funny noises when Hermione had used her wand. Gabrielle decided to test the older girl's mood and asked, very politely - to make up for her gaffe before, why that was.

"It's the electrics. The magic messes it up," responded Hermione.

"Eh, I zought zat ze cars, zey run on, eh, petrol?"

"The engine runs on petrol, yes. But the engine turns a dynamo to generate electricity. That electricity runs the wireless, and controls the engine also," explained Hermione. "The fact that the engine still needs petrol means that Mr. Weasley has yet to do much to it."

Silence descended between the two of them again. Gabrielle wasn't sure if Hermione was still upset, or if driving the car took a lot of concentration. Monsieur Toulier talked all the time when he drove, but then he had probably been driving for many years. Gabrielle decided to offer an apology anyway. "(Eh, I am sorry I was so rude, before.)"

Hermione sighed. "(It is okay, Beebee. I know he is difficult sometimes, stupid even. But the others have not seen all of him.")

"(I have!)" blurted Gabrielle with a giggle. Then she realized with a blush that Hermione probably did not mean exactly that. "(Eh, he is, eh, has many qualities.)" That seemed safe.

"(He told me about that morning,)" said Hermione. Gabrielle winced - more apologizing would be needed. "(What were you thinking?)"

"(It was, eh.... comparative anatomy?)"

This time Hermione giggled. "(I heard you got enough for an eye.)"

"(Yes, and for my hand.)" That had been - so - gross.

Hermione took her eyes from the road and looked at her for the first time. "(What?! He did not say that.)"

"(Please, it was an accident. I think he was still asleep. He, eh, thought I was you,)" explained Gabrielle quickly. She hoped Hermione would understand.

"(I found him hexed in the hall. Tell me what happened,)" requested Hermione. This, thought Gabrielle sourly, will be a long trip.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape set the Prophet aside, considered it a moment, and set it ablaze with his wand. Eight Death Eaters caught - including Gregory Goyle. Well, thought the former professor, he could have predicted that the brainless lump would end up on the wrong side of the Ministry. And for something so pointless! What, wondered Snape, were they thinking?

Obviously they were not thinking, at least not about the future, or how they might not have one. Perhaps the idiots thought the Dark Lord would come for them. The Dark Lord who is hissing and slithering in front of the fire after finishing his breakfast of live rabbits.

Snape's own breakfast had been quite basic, but satisfying. Narcissa was improving regardless of Bella's complaints. Thankfully Dickinbottom slept late; Snape would not have to deal with him until tea. Until then there would be the deluge of messages the Dark Lord and his alter-ego were to address. Another ship had been lost in the North Sea yesterday. It may be there will be word today that the rest of the giants have been drowned. A large tropical bird brought a report from Ollivander. It was decorated with tales of hardship, thrilling muggle encounters, and brief glimpses of their quarry - all intended to cover the abject failure in the way of actual results. Wormtail had missed boarding the ship. He needed money - hah.

Severus was beginning to come to grips with the W.A.S.I party scheme. The Dark Lord was able to attract many followers, but most were from the lower reaches of society - thugs, most of them. That had to be galling for the Dark Lord, given his previous successes. The Chairman, on the other hand, moved almost exclusively within the upper reaches, where wealth and connections were available. Snape recalled the ancient black owl, with razor talons and a tiresome disposition, that brought an entreaty from a duly appointed head of a committee of shop owners. They pleaded for the Chairman to force the Ministry to end the extortion racket run by the Dark Lord's minions. It boggled the mind. The top and the bottom, mused Snape, would together be used to crush the middle.

v - v - v - v - v

They had to stop for food. The consensus in the car was that it would give Ron something to do. Gabrielle would normally have found that ridiculous, but she had not had much breakfast so she asked for something to eat too. She had the galleons from Fred, but Harry used the rest of his muggle money, and some of Hermione's, to buy something called pasties. To Gabrielle, the paper-wrapped item wasn't very good, but it was not bad either. She ate it. Ron had three.

Much of the rest of the trip to London was spent trying to work out how Dobby had been able to be hiding in the rubbish bin at the take-away when Harry and Hermione had passed. He had not been in it the moment before when a mother of two had thrown away her children's uneaten chips. It was obviously apparition - everyone agreed to that save Harry, who pointed out Dobby said it was something else. The real question was how it was done, since everyone agreed that Dobby had probably not been in the rubbish bin before. Apparating into a small, enclosed, and unknown space would be impossible for a witch or wizard. Gabrielle repeated George's musings about the spatio-magio-tunnels as a way to participate. Hermione wondered if, instead of a tunnel, it was more of like a stretchable balloon, where you sort of stretched out also. That would explain how a wizard could end up scattered across three counties after a really bad splinching. Harry thought that if that were true, then maybe house-elves stretched head-first, so they could see where they were going, while wizards went feet-first. Ron suggested that with a change at keeper and a different set of beaters the Cannons might not finish dead last in the tables.

Once they reached London, the talk turned to where to leave the car. Hermione did not think they would be long, and hoped to find parking on the street. Gabrielle hoped no one would ask why Hermione thought that. Harry suggested they find a car park so that concealing anything magic from muggles would be easier. If they needed to, he clarified. At the next traffic signal, Hermione turned in her seat to stare at Harry, but she got no reaction. Ginny suggested a stop at the twins shop, with a wink at Gabrielle, which made Gabrielle think that she might have been a bit unfair toward Ginny.

In the end, Harry and Hermione had swapped opinions. Hermione could not find an open spot next to the right color kerb, and wanted to resort to a car park. Harry had seen the schedule of fees for a car park and wanted to find a spot on the street. Hermione won.

They walked out of the Broadwick car park and stopped to get their bearings. Well, noted Gabrielle, only Hermione was really working out which way to go. Harry was silent under the cloak so she couldn't tell about him. Ginny and Ron were just looking around saying how different it all looked from the ground.

"Okay. We'll head south until we reach St. James Park," explained Hermione. "We can follow the Mall to the Strand."

"Is it very long?" asked Ron.

"I shouldn't think so, only about a mile or so.'

"Should be a chip shop along the way then?"

"Ron! First off, you've already eaten twice this morning," complained Hermione. "Second, we're almost out of muggle money, and we might need almost twenty pounds to get the car out."

"Too bad Fred and George couldn't give us one of those boxes to stick it in," said Ginny.

"Dobby can go to Gringotts for you Miss," suggested Dobby. He peered down into their startled faces from the branches of the tree they  
stood by.

"Thanks Dobby, but, er, my account there is pretty much empty. My parents only exchange money before the school year," said Hermione.

"He can use some from our vault," suggested Ginny. She did not sound pleased about it.

"What?" asked Ron sharply. "Ginny, er..." He lowered his voice. "Things have always been tight and with the wedding preparations..."

"We're flush with galleons now. Apparently Harry felt he had to make us his personal charity."

Ron's ears reddened. Gabrielle took a step back. "He did, did he? Feeling sorry for us, was he? Well, I -"

"No," interrupted Harry. Gabrielle startled - he sounded like he was right next to her. She had forgotten him. "'S not charity. I'm, erm, renting the room. It's room and board for the next few years. That's why they, uh, didn't kick me out after... After." Now Ginny looked unhappy, thought Gabrielle.

This did not calm Ron. "Renting? My best mate and they make you pay bloody rent? Mum's gone round the bend! Does Dad know? What am I saying - he must. Don't worry, I'll have a word with them, make them see -"

"Look, we're starting to attract attention. I'll tell you about it, later," interrupted Harry again in an urgent whisper. "Let's get to the Leaky Cauldron and get off the street."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was gathering quite a few glances as they walked along the streets. This happened to Fleur all the time, of course, thought Gabrielle. But with Fleur it was usually long stares, open-mouthed gapes, or leers. She was getting half-smiles and smirks. It was making Gabrielle paranoid. Harry was invisible, Hermione and Ginny wore ordinary muggle clothing - neat, but nothing special, and Ron looked like he had had a bad night. They did not blend in with the more fashionably dressed, passing muggles on the Mall, but they did not stick out either. Only she was getting a second look. When they stopped at a bakery - Ron insisted that they would be less conspicuous if they looked into the shop windows every so often, Gabrielle used the display window as a mirror.

"(Oh for goodness's sake!)" exclaimed Gabrielle to her reflection. Why had no one said anything? Was this a prank? There were pasty crumbs all over her, and Mrs. Weasley had only fixed one side of the dress. Maman and Fleur would be horrified if they ever saw her like this.

"What's up, Effy?" asked Ginny.

"I look ridiculous! Why did you not say?" huffed Gabrielle. She swatted the crumbs from her front. Those were her fault, but still. The dress was ugly enough; being lopsided made her look like a clown. "And it is Gabrielle."

"You look about the same to me," said Ron. Gabrielle wondered if he said that to make her feel better or to make her feel worse. Or, did he say that because he was an idiot? "Say, do you think those are filled?"

"Is zere a market, or... " Gabrielle started, but stopped when she realized it would be useless. They wouldn't agree to stop, and if they did, she did not have any muggle money anyway - not even francs.

"Don't worry, Hermione can fix it when we get to the Leaky Cauldron," said Ginny. Gabrielle did not consider that the best news. "Or, hey - Harry said he'd replace the one that tore. Maybe you can find something at Madame Malkin's?" Gabrielle's spirits rose, she had forgotten that. Then they sank again. It did not seem fair to make Harry pay for something new when he could have repaired the damage with a wave of his wand.

"No, zat is not necessary," said Gabrielle glumly. She checked her reflection again. At least she was clean now. "It was not really his fault."

"Come on, we're almost there," urged Hermione.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle and the others soon reached the Leaky Cauldron. Gabrielle had to assume Harry did as well, since she had no way of telling. George and Fred were at their side as soon as they were inside, steering them to the far side of the room.

"Nasty bugger in the blue robes - works for the Ministry but we've seen him following, ah, friends," muttered George.

"Ol' Tom has him Confunded, though. So no worries. Still," added Fred, "it's best to skip tea and get through the archway."

"What about Diagon Alley?" asked Hermione quietly.

"Voldie's yobs show up nearer to closing, before the tills are locked up. Should be all right now, except for the apothecary," replied George. "Always dodgy types in there for some reason."

Gabrielle trailed the others past the tables to the rear of the pub. She couldn't bring herself to look into George's face. He had not even greeted her! Of course, he and Fred had not actually greeted any of the others either. But, she felt the slight toward her was more intentional, rather than the result of hurrying; that she had embarrassed him more than he could bear even though she hadn't known she was doing it. Or perhaps George was avoiding her because of the kiss. Perhaps he feared losing control of himself if she was too near. That, noted her second thoughts, sounded more like the schoolgirl's dream than reality. It could be the dress, thought  
Gabrielle. I might be too ridiculous looking to be near.

Gabrielle trudged behind Ginny and Hermione as they made their way the short distance to Madame Malkin's shop. George and Fred walked on either side of her, which would have normally cheered her up. But at the moment she felt like a butterfly that had been stuffed back into its chrysalis.

"All right, we'll leave you lot here," announced Fred when they reached the door. "Try to stay out of trouble Pickle, and come down to the shop if you finish up early."

"Here's a tip: duck your head on the way in," said George. He reached over and tousled Gabrielle's hair. "Don't forget Pepi either." Gabrielle gave him a smile, but inwardly she frowned at the contact. It wasn't right, she thought. It should have been a brief embrace, or quick kiss on the cheek.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry watched the three girls enter into the shop. "Oy Ron," whispered Harry.

Ron let the door shut, and leaned an arm against the jamb as if he was going to watch from outside. "Yeah?" he asked quietly.

"You remember what Mad-Eye was telling us about not concentrating our forces?"

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

Harry waited while Ron attempted to arrange himself into a nonchalant pose. "You know Ron, a Weasley male hanging out in front of a robe shop? That's just, erm, wrong."

"Easy for you say. You can bleeding stand anywhere you want with that cloak," complained Ron, pretending to scratch his nose to cover his lips moving.

"I'm just saying it looks a bit, er, unnatural. We just need to find a spot where you don't look so out of place," said Harry. "We can move a couple of shops down, say."

"What do you - Oh, that's brilliant!" enthused Ron as he saw Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Harry gave Ron a little nudge in the back, and they walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron a little to stand at the storefront. "Okay, here's the plan: take these galleons and ask the owner to close up shop for half an hour," whispered Harry from behind Ron. He reached into a Fred and George special in his pocket and pulled out the bag. "It's almost fifty galleons."

"What? Why? Fifty galleons!"

"Quiet you arse!" hissed Harry. "I've got some shopping to do."

"Hermione isn't going to like this," muttered Ron. Harry smirked to himself: the poor sod was henpecked already. He followed Ron into the shop, savoring the scent of oiled leather gear. It reminded him of the happier times at Hogwarts.

"She won't know if we're quick. Here," said Harry pushing the bag into Ron's hand, "now go."

The wizard behind the counter was middle-aged, sturdily built, and, to the serious quidditch fan, known as "Hats Off" Mc Clotskey. He had spent several years knocking around the leagues as a reserve beater. He had the unfortunate habit of sending bludgers into the crowds of spectators when he did get a chance to play. "Good morning laddie," he greeted Ron. "Weasley, right? Saw you play. What can I help you with?"

"I've got a friend who, er, needs to do some shopping...."

"Well today is your lucky day, then. We are, you might have noticed, open and in the business of purveying."

"Yeah, well, that's the thing. He'd like you to close for a bit. Wants a little, er, privacy, ya see?"

"Look son, times are tough enough. The streets are deserted; foot traffic's down eighty percent. I can't turn out the few -"

"For fifty galleons? Half an hour for fifty galleons?" asked Ron. He poured out the bag Harry had given him with shaking hands. Mc Clotskey stared at the coins, then Ron, then the small knot of school-age boys fingering the racing brooms on display.

"Right. You lot, clear out. Go on, go! Time for me lunch hour," ordered Mc Clotskey as he came out from behind the counter and bustled the other patrons out. He spelled the door shut and flipped the dangling sign to 'closed' with a flick of his wand. "Your friend's got his half hour. Where's he at?"

Harry ducked behind a rack of bats, pulled off the cloak, and stood up. "Right here, Mr. Mc Clotskey."

"Half an hour. Never even saw fifty galleons before," muttered Ron to himself.

"Potter! There's a surprise. Thought it would be some rich swot come to buy a racing broom for his thicko second-year," confided Mc Clotskey. "Having trouble with the fans already, eh?"

"Not fans, no. We don't have much time. I need a Firebolt," announced Harry.

No one spoke or even moved for a long moment before Ron and the shopkeeper both exclaimed, "A Firebolt?!"

"Yeah. Er, how much to they go for?" asked Harry. He had not kept good track of his progress in spending down the Black estate.

"Son, they normally go for fifteen hundred, and I could go as low as thirteen hundred," said Mc Clotskey with a look of pity for  
Harry. "You might find the new Comet more, uh, in line with your budget."

"You've already got a Firebolt!" declared Ron.

"You don't," replied Harry. "Shack was right about flying, but it won't work if you can't keep up. Dobby?"

The house-elf stood up from behind a basket of padded knee-and-shin guards. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir?"

"Would you take my key to Gringotts and bring fifteen hundred galleons, please?"

"Dobby will be right back, Harry Potter!" He took the key from Harry's hand and disappeared in half a step.

Ron had sagged down until he sat on a bin of quaffles. "A Firebolt..." he mumbled, his eyes glassy. Mc Clotskey looked a bit stunned as well, standing there with a big grin. Harry wondered why you would bother stocking an item if you didn't think someone would want to buy it.

"Mr. Mc Clotskey? You do have one in stock, right?" asked Harry.

"Um, yeah. Yes. Yes sir, I do. They're locked up in back - loads of wards and jinxes. I reckon I should probably bring one out, speed you on your way as it were." The former beater strode through the curtained opening at the back of the shop, suddenly and cheerfully energetic.

"All right there Ron?" asked Harry. Ron outweighed him, but the newer Firebolt might be faster. They would, resolved Harry, have to race.

"A Firebolt," repeated Ron.

"You'll be the school's fastest keeper."

"Laugh if you want - I could transform the game. Imagine having a fourth chaser, least to mid-pitch," enthused the now focused Ron.

"It'd work at Hogwarts, but not at the professional level where teams could fly everyone on Firebolts," opined Harry.

"It'd work for a season, I'd bet," argued Ron. "And when, say, one of the other team's chasers was slowed, or if you were close to gapping  
the snitch margin."

Dobby reappeared at that point, pulling a large leather bag behind him. "Dobby is back! Dobby is sorry it took so long. The goblins were not very helpful about this much gold leaving Gringotts."

"Thanks Dobby. Er, you didn't happen to noticed how much was left in the Black's vault, did you?" asked Harry.

"Dobby did not count, sir, but it is only silver now." Dobby bade Harry to bend over, but he did not whisper when he added, "There weren't enough galleons, Harry Potter, but Dobby got more from the goblins with the sickles."

"Oh er, great Dobby," praised Harry. He would have to send Hedwig to find out how much was left. It was feeding Ron on muggle money, and the goblin exchange rate, that had really done it. And, of course, the Firebolt. At least, if only knuts were left, he wouldn't have to worry about food - he had paid for board, after all.

Just then there was a loud crash from the store room, followed by the sound of many things tumbling across the floor. Several heavy thumps shook the signs and team pictures hung on the walls, the source of which became apparent when a bludger rocketed from the rear of the shop and forced the boys to the floor. Harry rolled over onto his back to keep an eye on the iron missile, while his hand fumbled for something to fend it off. He watched the bludger ricochet off the far wall, then make a diving run at the house-elf. "Look out Dobby!" cried Harry.

Dobby raised his hand. The bludger stopped dead in the air, and dropped with a clunk to the ground. "Dobby is safe, Harry Potter sir. But Harry Potter should not worry about Dobby when Harry Potter has fallen himself!"

Ron stood up and dusted his shirt off. "I forgot you know your way around bludgers, Dobby."

The elf's face crumpled and tears welled in his large eyes. "Dobby was a bad elf for doing that!" moaned the elf. He almost had made it to the closest display when Harry tackled him from behind.

"Stop that," ordered Harry. "That's all in the past now, and you meant well anyway."

"Wish I could get through the charms on a bludger. Fred and George could use the practice," complained Ron, flicking his wand at the bludger to no apparent effect. "Sure you can't apparate with someone?"

Dobby sniffed a few times, then searched his baggy sleeves for a handkerchief to blow his nose. "Dobby is sorry, but house-elves can not carry wizards. House-elves are not apparating. We just walk."

"You mentioned that before; that you, er, take all the steps at once or something," said Harry. There was another tumbling noise from the back.

"Yes. Wizards are all in one place," said Dobby.

"You can carry an owl though, right?" asked Ron. Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "What about a muggle?"

"Dobby does not know any muggles," replied Dobby.

"Sorry about that, boys. Been so long since I sold one of these I forgot that last Flinging jinx," apologized "Hats Off". He limped a little and held the Firebolt out in both hands. "Thing of beauty, ain't it?"

It was beautiful, and both Ron and Harry gave the broom a reverent going over. Harry noticed the new contours, and the shine. Guiltily, he vowed to do some maintenance on his own. Ron couldn't take his hands off it. "Bloody hell. This is like a dream," Ron burbled mostly to himself.

"Sorry about the drool, Mr. Mc Clotskey. He's always been distracted by bright shiny things," apologized Harry mockingly. "We'll take it." Harry hefted the bag Dobby had brought and followed the shopkeeper to the counter.

"A bit much for a keeper, but an excellent investment. Here, you can keep the fifty for closing the shop, just - Oh blimey, I almost forgot. Comes from too many bludgers hits in training, ha! A gent dropped this off for you." Mc Clotskey produced the package, flipping it around so the Cannons logo was visible. "Not said a word to anyone, me. My advice to you, friend, is don't say yes. Don't say no either. You've got a name already, and a good bit of talent. It's early even for tampering, so you're bound to get a couple more to play off each other.

Harry stared at the package, with its bright orange shield, not really taking in the negotiation strategies being listed. This must be how Ron feels right about now, he thought. A lovely daydream that suddenly comes true. A professional quidditch team - interested in him! All right, admitted Harry to himself, it is only the Cannons. But it was Ron's team and his adopted one, and it was far more likely he'd be able to make it onto a poor team than a really solid one. He reached for the package.

Unbidden, images flickered in his head of other hands, his and Cedric's, reaching for a coveted prize. His hand stopped instantly, hovering just above the wrapped offering. Harry wished for Hermione; she knew a lot of revealing spells. He stared at the package hard, trying to catch hint, a glint of magical traces.

"All right lad?" laughed Mc Clotskey. "I remember my first invite to a tryout - my mates kept hitting me with sobering charms, the bastards."

"No, I'm, er, fine. I just, you know, need to be careful. Voldemort, sorry, You-Know-Who is not much a fan of mine, you see. I'll, erm, open it later." Harry pulled out the flat-ish box from his pocket, shifted the package to the edge of the counter magically, then slowly eased it into the box like a snake swallowing its prey.

The shop-owner offered Harry more advice, and a receipt. Harry thanked him, not really hearing him, but doubted he would need a receipt as Ron was unlikely to release his grip on the new broom. When Mc Clotskey excused himself to finish restoring order in the back, Harry slipped on the cloak again and gave Ron a shove toward the door. Ron barely noticed.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was feeling better. The dress she had worn to the shop smouldered to ashes in the hearth. That by itself would have been enough, but Gabrielle had come up with a new plan the moment she had entered. It was so easy, she had realized. She could not afford any of the elegant gowns and dresses Madam Malkin had on display, based on Hermione's experience, and she could not go about muggle London in robes. Ginny insisted it would be all right, but Gabrielle just could not ask Harry Potter to pay either. She could, however, afford a Hogwarts school uniform. It would not make her look devastating, but it would also not make her look like a child. Buying one that was a little small on her already, thought Gabrielle, might make her look a few years older. Perhaps just old enough.

Madame Malkin had confirmed that she had not, in fact,grown, but used the opportunity to tweak the draping charm that gave her shape, er, shape. Then Gabrielle had to face the two pink wads the size of goose eggs, which would be used to round out that which her body had so far left somewhat flat. In the most mortifying procedure ever, the decidedly forward Madame Malkin had applied them to Gabrielle's bare torso after pinching some very sensitive spots. Gabrielle had gasped and tried to pull away. Madame Malkin just shushed her and claimed it helped to align the pink globs properly. The prosthetics adhered to Gabrielle with a strange suction feeling that left her feeling a little itchy.

It was worth it, though. Soon after the enhancements were applied, they turned from pink to a perfect match of her skin color, and smoothed and formed themselves into a rather small, but clearly present, bosom. With the dress back in place, Gabrielle definitely had a bit of cleavage. It balanced and shaped the form-fitting dress in just the right way. Gabrielle decided that she looked good. Not Fleur-good, perhaps, but at least Ginny-good. Maybe, thought Gabrielle, even a little better than Ginny - particularly if she kept her elbows close to her sides so no one could see how big they were. Her knees still looked very knobby, noted Gabrielle, but there was nothing to be done about that except to hope that the colors in her hair would stop people from looking down. She wondered what George would make of her. A sinking feeling came over Gabrielle at the thought of him. Fred would bring Verity. George, realized Gabrielle, he would not come to the wedding alone, would he? He would bring that Matty girl. That would be a problem if she were to try and have a perfect moment.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry watched Ron, annoyed and jealous. Ron had barely stepped out of the shop when he declared in an excited whisper that he would do some reconnoitering. Before Harry could say a thing, Ron had jumped onto the broom and into the air. He was now rocketing up and down Diagon Alley at rooftop level, while Harry could only watch. Besides not being able to fly also, Harry worried about the attention the red-haired comet was attracting. Well, thought Harry, Hermione will put an end to it soon enough.

Once she noticed, of course. There weren't that many wizard and witches out to get a jump on the weekend shopping, but those that were were lining the streets. It would be risky to try and slip into Madame Malkin's now to get her to tell her boyfriend to stop being such a git.

v - v - v - v - v

Once the bridesmaid dress had been finished with, and once the prosthetics had been taken off, and once Gabrielle's eyes had stopped watering and her breathing returned to normal after the alarmingly painful removal process, Gabrielle picked out a Hogwarts school uniform. It was a rather drab affair - white blouse and grey skirt, covered by plain black robes. Fleur's uniforms from Beauxbatons were far more colorful and stylish. Gabrielle didn't need the robes, but there was a package discount. Her coven sisters then decided that she would be a Gryffindor like them, and chose the emblem for the robe. Gabrielle would have preferred the yellow emblem herself, but it was rude to refuse a gift.

Madame Malkin could not quite grasp what Gabrielle was after, and tried very hard to talk Gabrielle into a size 'she could grow into'. It was only after Ginny had taken the robe-maker aside for a whispered exchange that she stopped insisting. Gabrielle should have been thankful, but the squat witch took to smirking at Gabrielle. That was much worse than the hectoring.

The door to the shop rattled in its frame from two loud bangs. "What in Merlin's name was that?" wondered Madame Malkin, looking skittish. It was a bad habit, but Gabrielle immediately thought it was a silly question. It was obviously something hitting the door. The precise question was, thought Gabrielle pedantically, what caused the noise?

Hermione moved to the door and peeked out from the edge of the window. "There's no one out-" she started before stopping. She then opened the door fully, standing clear of the threshold. "I don't see anyone."

"Hermiiioooneee!" came a cry from outside, fading in and then out.

"Ron? Ron!" scolded Hermione as she stepped out of the shop.

"Hullo Harry," smiled Ginny after Harry stood up suddenly from the racks of school robes.

"Why Mr. Potter! I, uh, didn't hear you arrive. Is there something I can help you with?" asked Madame Malkin.

"Ron -no! Stop. Ron! Aieeee!"

"You don't sell brains here, by any chance?" said Harry with a sigh.

"We're just about done here, Harry. Say hello to the newest Gryffindor," said Ginny, pointing to Gabrielle.

"What? Oh, are you going to Hogwarts this fall? Not, erm, Beauxbatons?" asked Harry.

"Non, I will go to Beauxbatons," replied Gabrielle. Probably, if Fleur does not spoil it. "Zee ozzer dress was ruined."

"Doesn't she look nice?" hinted Ginny.

"Uh, sure. She looks -" began Harry before they were all distracted by a high-pitched squeal from the street. This was followed by Ron's shouting.

The door to the shop burst open, and Ron came stumbling in with his hands over his head. A wind-bedraggled Hermione stormed after him, swinging the broom wildly.

"Stop! Fer Merlin's sake, stop! It's a Firebolt!" begged Ron desperately, ducking a blow.

"I don't care if it's a lightning bolt - I'm going to crack your skull!" yelled Hermione. She swung the bristled end at Ron, just missing, but knocking over a display.

"Aah! You're going to wreck it!" shouted Harry. "Let her hit you already!"

"Hermione! Use the other end," advised Ginny, who doubled over laughing. Gabrielle found the scene funny as well.

Hermione heard Ginny and brought the broom down, turning away from Ron. He saw his chance and closed on his possibly former girlfriend. She had changed her grip, and spun back to face him. Stick and nose met, blood sprayed, and Ron went down.

"My merchandise!" exclaimed Madame Malkin.

"Bloody hell," moaned Ron. He rolled on the floor, hands to his nose.

"Ron!" blurted Hermione in shock. She dropped the broom.

Harry hurried to the fallen wizard. Ginny hurried to the fallen broom. Gabrielle went to Hermione and wondered how much of Ron the older girl would need to see before she came to her senses. She needs someone better, thought Gabrielle. Her second thoughts dredged up the memory of Mrs. Weasley suggesting George. Gabrielle decided that they perhaps know their own hearts, and could get past this with some help.

"Episky," said Harry as he examined Ron's nose. "I think it's broken."

"No, it looks fine. Not even a scratch. Even the bristles are still in place," called Ginny.

"Oh Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," moaned Hermione. "Here, let me do it." She knelt next to Ron.

"Did't bean to? You swu'g six ti'es!" complained Ron. Hermione tapped Ron's nose. Gabrielle wondered if one tap would be enough for it, given the length.

"Well, you kept moving! What did you think you were doing anyway? You could have killed me!"

"Just thought you might like flying more if you tried a good broomstick. The school brooms aren't worth a knut," explained Ron.

"How is dangling me under your arm while going a hundred miles an hour suppose to make flying more enjoyable? You could have dropped me. You could have killed me," ranted Hermione.

"Drop you? Go on - you weigh next to nothing!"

"That isn't the point, is it, you idiot. I could have slipped. I could -"

"Eh, perhaps after zat - " interrupted Gabrielle.

"You are not sticking up for him, are you?" demanded Hermione.

"Non, he is an idiot. Mais, eh.. Perhaps a, eh, proper broom ride will not be so bad after zat?"

Hermione gaped at her. "You are taking his side!"

"'Course she is. Even the midget can see my point," crowed Ron. I should have said nothing, thought Gabrielle.

"No, that wasn't your point at all," argued Hermione. "You said that if I -"

"Then it's what I meant to say," Ron interrupted. He gave Hermione a big smile, which turned into a leer as he moved closer to her. "So what do you say? Wanna take a ride on my broomstick?" He waggled his eyebrows. Gabrielle felt ill.

"I'm going to pretend you did not say that," said Hermione coldly.

"Yeah Ron. That's a little much," added Harry. At least, thought Gabrielle, Ron had the decency to blush.

v - v - v - v - v

After Gabrielle had paid for the uniform, and Ron had apologized at least three times to Hermione, and Harry had apologized to Ginny for not getting her the broom instead, they headed up the street to Eeylops Owl Emporium. Gabrielle had to remind them of the errand. No one seemed concerned at all about her pet, which left Gabrielle feeling peeved. Ginny and Hermione were still touchy as well, which left Ron wishing for an invisibility cloak to disappear beneath like Harry. Ron stopped at the door of Eeylops, and received a rebuke.

"Everyone will come in, Ronald," said Hermione sharply. "And I do mean everyone. No more shopping sprees nor showing off," she said to the air in general. Ron just grunted and sidled over to a sheltered area beneath racks of cages.

Gabrielle stared in wonder. There were so many animals - mostly owls, in a dozen varieties. But there were also mewling cats, rats, lizards, snakes, and even a bat. At least, Gabrielle thought it was a bat. It had leathery wings anyway. There was a regular puffskein in a cage, oddly hung near the glass tank of green water, in which a bony-looking thing hid in the shadows. Gabrielle wondered if it were a grindylow; Fleur had described them to her. The shop had toads too, sitting in ceramic pots of damp moss. Maman had a toad when she was a girl. Gabrielle could not see the attraction herself. Fur was a requirement for a real pet, in her view.

Like Madame Malkin's shop, Eeylops had almost no other customers. There were only two other witches in the shop, over by the shopkeeper. Gabrielle first thought the two customers were together, a mother and daughter, but they seemed to be arguing. Which, when she considered it, may have meant it was more likely they were related. One was an ancient crone with wispy white hair. She was bent over with age and used a wood staff to prop herself up. Her eyes were milky, but the way she moved didn't suggest that she was blind. The other witch was much younger, with blond hair, elegant features, and the most forced smile Gabrielle had ever seen.

Gabrielle headed toward the shopkeeper to collect Pepi with Ginny, while Hermione went to look at the enchanted cat toys. Gabrielle had a new worry: how much was treating the pygmy puffskein going to cost? She still had several galleons left, but knew she had also been sort of expecting George to take care of it. There wasn't really any reason for him to have done so, though. Pepi had been so sick, thought Gabrielle. What if a rare and expensive potion had been needed?

Now that Gabrielle was closer, she could hear the shopkeeper, a rail-thin witch in an oversized leather apron, and the other two witches. They were discussing the cost of owl treats.

"Well dearie," quavered the ancient witch in reply. Her voice was thin, but did not flag. "I wouldn't say owl treats have gone up much recently. I've been coming to this shop since I was a little girl. Things were cheaper back then, I can tell you that. You could get a fine postal owl for a sickle, and change back, mind you. Good quality owls too, back then. They were willing to work without all these fancy treats there are these days. An owl would fly from the standing stones to Glasgow - and back - for a bit of bacon. No guarantee the gormless wizard in Glasgow would write back, of course. Such a pretty laddie he was. No backbone at all, though. My father threatened to hex his nadgers and - "

"Oh shut up, you dried-up harpy. Forget the damned treats," interrupted the younger blond witch. Gabrielle hoped that they were not related. No one should be that rude to their mother. The blond witch turned to the shopkeeper, who took a step back even though the counter was between them. "I need snake tonic. General health and strength." The shopkeeper hesitated. "What are you standing there for? Go, or you'll feel the sting of my wand!"

"Beggin' your pardon, mistress, but Esme was here first. What did you need, dear?" asked the shopkeeper to the crone.

"I'm afraid it's Mister Nubbies again, dearie. The muggles are feeding the pigeons something strange in Trafalgar Square, I'm certain, and you know Mister Nubbies loves his pigeons."

"You - you aren't still taking Mister Nubbies out amongst the muggles, are you? Esme! You are, aren't you?" asked the shopkeeper in horror.

"Not to worry, girl. I know the spells to hide him. Muggles don't look anyway. Not these days, with their eltricksy and those boxes they talk into. When I was a girl you had to be more careful. Back in those times muggles watched the world around them instead of the picture box. Once, with dear old Freeny - she's dead now almost ten years - we -"

"Enough of this! Get me my tonic so I can be on my way, and you and the gasping windbag might live to see another day," seethed the blond witch.

"Hmmph. Youngsters knew their place back then, and were polite too, or they were turned into newts for the day. Hard to cause trouble on a dinner of bugs. My mother, bless her soul, did that -"

"Shut up, or poor widdle Nubbies will find himself a widdle orphan cuz his hag of a mumsy got in the way too often. Now go away!" threatened the blond witch. The babyish talk she used grated on Gabrielle's ears.

"Bellatrix," came Harry's voice.


	23. The Fallen

Chapter Twenty-Three - The Fallen

The blond witch turned on the spot, eyes wide. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes narrowed when they found Harry, who had shrugged off the cloak. "Potter!" she hissed. Her wand was in her hand instantly.

"Ooh Esme, it's Harry Potter," said the shopkeeper excitedly. Gabrielle stood near the counter, wondering why Harry would want to greet such a rude woman. Perhaps she was a professor. Something tugged at her robes, and swatting at the source she found it to be Ginny's hand. Gabrielle tried to pull away by going closer to the counter. Perhaps she could slip in.

"Excuse me. Eh, I have come for Pepi. He is ze pygmy puffskein and - oh!" Gabrielle was yanked off her feet and fell backwards.

"_Expelliarmus!_" shouted Harry. Bellatrix's spell was lost in Harry's shout, but his attempt at disarming was turned aside.

"Are you crazy?" whispered Ginny hoarsely as she dragged Gabrielle behind the stacked bags of Mooncalf feed. How, wondered Gabrielle, was I to know they would duel?

"_Confringo!_" barked Bellatrix. Harry raised a shield, but it was of no use as the spell was not aimed at him but at the support between him and Ron. The wooden pole supporting the overhead cages and miscellaneous goods exploded into sharp, knife-like shards. The owls began screeching and throwing themselves about their cages.

"Esme, come around to this side, dear!" called the shopkeeper. The huge shelf collapsed. Harry and Ron disappeared under the wreckage.

"Harry," groaned Ginny.

"Ron!" shrieked Hermione.

"Ah, if it isn't the filthy mudblood," sneered Bellatrix. "_Sectumsempra!_" The curse sailed wide as the disguised Death Eater was forced to dodge a wildly flung Reducto from Ron. Just the tip of his wand could be seen. Hermione's disarming spell missed as well as she dove for the cover of the cat toy display. Gabrielle had no idea why any of this was happening or what she should do. Who was that witch? Would she kill them all? Maman is going to be so angry. Good thing, piped her second thoughts, you have that knife. Gabrielle was surprised to find it in her hand. She unfolded the long thin blade. It was completely useless, but it was the look of the thing.

"_Stupefy!_" called Ginny, jumping up to launch the spell.

"_Protego_," laughed Bellatrix. She brought her wand around so quickly. "_Stupefy!_" Ginny tried to block the attack, but it was not in time. "Pathetic."

"_Reducto!_" boomed Ron from the rubble pile. It wasn't even close. Gabrielle could tell he wasn't able to see anything.

"I can't see from here, dearie," complained the old crone.

"_Stupefy_," cast Hermione from behind the display. Bellatrix dropped to the floor in front of Gabrielle, the jet of red from the spell just missing. "Oh!" cried Hermione. The prone Bellatrix had banished the display behind which Hermione hid, knocking the girl down roughly and sending her wand clattering.

"Time to die, mudblood!" proclaimed Bellatrix triumphantly. She jumped to her feet. A dazed Hermione just stared. "_Avada Kedavr_-aagh!"

Gabrielle did not remember deciding to jump. She had obviously done so, but she could not recall thinking about it. One second she was next to the unconscious Ginny, watching in horror as this awful woman strode toward the flailing Hermione, saying she was going to kill Gabrielle's coven sister. The next she was laying on her side, arm out, knife blade jabbed into the back of the blond witch's knee. If I had thought about it, noted Gabrielle to herself, I would have wondered what was going to happen afterward. Oops, acknowledged the second thoughts.

An outraged Bellatrix spun on the good leg, kicking Gabrielle in the stomach hard with her injured leg. "_Sectumsempra!_" shrieked the Death Eater. The curse hit Gabrielle in the ribs and left shoulder, knocking the wind from her. There was a sharp, burning sensation from where the magic hit, and a flash as Gabrielle struggled to move away. A young barn owl exploded in a puff of feathers as its cage shattered above Bellatrix's head.

The falling cage and snow of bloody feathers distracted the enraged witch. Gabrielle could see Hermione crawling for her wand.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," said Ron. The section of shelving next to where he was buried rose up. Harry scrambled from beneath it to grab his wand as Bellatrix limped toward Hermione.

"_Crucio!_" bellowed Harry. Bellatrix fell to her knees with a screeching wail, but recovered quickly.

"Still can't manage it Potter? Poor widdle Potty-ums has to watch all his widdle friends die 'cuz he's so weak. So pathetic," taunted Bellatrix. She sent a sizzle of purple magic toward him with a slash of her wand, forcing Harry to dodge, and turned toward Hermione.

"He can't hate enough, but I can! _Crucio!_" Gabrielle heaved herself to a sitting position and could see the new arrival. It was a round-faced boy, somewhat lumpy. His face was completely drained of color, and he looked close to collapse, but he held the curse. Bellatrix writhed on the floor with blood-curdling screams.

"_Accio_ Bellatrix's wand." Harry caught her wand.

"_Incarcerous!_" came from Hermione. "_Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy_ - you, you..."

"All right there Neville?" asked Harry. He pulled the wand from the other boy's hand. Bellatrix was covered in ropes, unconscious.

"Ye-yeah... No." croaked Neville. His legs gave out, and Harry leaned him against the bag of Fire Crab bedding. "Just... came from Mungos..."

Harry rushed over to Gabrielle, lifted her face up, and asked if she was all right. "Ow," was all she could manage with a nod. Gabrielle saw that his face was covered in blood from from a cut above his eye.

"Ginny," said Harry. "_Ennervate._"

"Wha...? Harry. Oh, you're hurt!" Ginny struggle to get up.

"I'm fine. Help me dig out Ron," said Harry.

"I wondered if you would bleeding remember me," complained Ron from the tangle of the rubble.

"Do let me up, you Nervous Nellie. I think it's over," rasped the ancient witch from behind the counter.

Hermione came over to where the Harry was starting to levitate the wreckage. Ginny had started to follow Harry, but bent over Gabrielle instead. "What happened Effy? Where are you hurt?"

"She kicked me, and did ze curse on my chest," said Gabrielle trying to get up. Ginny pulled her upright gently. Gabrielle showed where the spell had hit her, and when she did she found the robes, blouse, and even the black undergarment from George had been rent open. When she stood straight, the ruined clothes gapped open and failed to cover half of her properly. Gabrielle needed to hold her arm to her chest to remain modest. "Who is zat witch?"

"That is Bellatrix Lestrange - a Death Eater. She escaped from Azkaban,and killed Harry's godfather," explained Ginny. Gabrielle recognized the name vaguely from her reading. "Oh, here's your knife - is this blood?"

"She, she saved my life. She stabbed that, that - " started Hermione in a hoarse voice.

"Bloody bitch?" suggested Ron from the pile. His legs were visible now.

"Er, yes. I suppose so," said Hermione, breaking into a smile. She turned and sent several spells at the windows and doors.

A toad, whose little moss bed lay scattered next to its ceramic home, crawled onto Gabrielle's shoe. It was larger than her fist, mottled brown, and very ugly. It made Gabrielle wish she had Pepi.

"That's amazing!" gushed Ginny to Gabrielle, giving her a hug more like a choke-hold. Gabrielle did not feel amazing. Her ribs hurt still and so did her stomach. Her outfit, which she had not worn more than a few minutes, was ruined. Worse yet, the black undergarment, the gift from George, appeared ruined as well. She could see the edges of the tear on it looked burned, and soot dirtied her fingers when she examined it.

The last of the debris pinning Ron was lifted away. Hermione was quickly at his side, questioning and examining him to see if he was injured. He was not really injured, nor was the Firebolt he had thrown himself on top of. Gabrielle expected outrage from Hermione, but instead the girl, sobbing now, had declared that his spellwork had  
been brilliant and that he had helped save her. Gabrielle supposed they would be looking for biscuits again later.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle had had many bad days in her life. This was not the worst, at least medically, but it was certainly moving up the ranking. She had, with a boost from Ginny, made her away over to the shopkeeper, who was staring numbly around the ruined shop. When asked about Pepi, twice, the shopkeeper waved uncertainly at the pile where Ron had been buried. Gabrielle wondered why she had bothered asking. Of course Pepi would be where the damage was greatest. Ron picked out a scrap of red fur on the end of his wand. It was not a surprise, really, but Gabrielle cried anyway.

Dobby was summoned and was positively frantic over the injuries and wreckage. Harry calmed him down by getting Hermione to heal the still oozing cut and to clean the blood off him. Once the little house-elf saw Harry was not about to expire, he offered to inform 'Missuz Wheazy'. That was met with a shout of 'No!' from all. Instead, Harry asked for house-elves to repair the shop. It was as if Father Christmas had come for Dobby. The place was soon crawling with house-elves, most of whom looked as anxious and shocked as the shopkeeper. Several had tools and building supplies in the sacks on their backs.

The ancient witch with the milky eyes did not introduce herself, but demanded a recounting of the duel as she had missed the most exciting parts. She prodded the shopkeeper with her staff and sent the thin witch off to the rear of the shop to make tea. Then she transfigured a bag of bedding into a chair using the staff and sat down to listen. Hermione had to do the retelling, as Gabrielle was the only other witness to the entire battle. Gabrielle noticed that Hermione only used Harry's name and that horrid witch's. That was fine with Gabrielle.

With the repairs underway, Harry declared that they should probably leave soon. The shopkeeper had not returned, leading to a long complaint about witches these days from the old one. Then the crone declared that it was good to see some young ones with backbone, which was followed by the start of a long list of wizards and witches who were without. Ginny, using her backbone, supposed Gabrielle,interrupted by asking what they were to do with Bellatrix.

There was a general consensus that the aurors should not be called. Gabrielle did not understand that at all. Was she not, thought Gabrielle, an escaped prisoner? Only Ginny was not supposed to do magic, besides herself, but surely it had been an emergency? That Bellatrix had attacked! No, remembered Gabrielle suddenly, Harry had struck first. She had heard Harry speak poorly of the Ministry - but they wouldn't..?

The Or-friends, Gabrielle was sure there was more to tell about that, were not to be notified either. Hermione was not happy about that, but Harry insisted that Mrs. Weasley would get in trouble and he couldn't let that happen. Gabrielle rather suspected that he felt guilty for manipulating the matriarch.

The boy who had arrived late, Neville, announced that he would not be taking the prone Death Eater. No one had asked him to, but Gabrielle figured he had worked out that they were running out of choices. Ginny told the round-face boy that he had done more than enough already. She gave him Bellatrix's wand, saying it was his to do what he wanted with, as he had won it from her. Gabrielle thought he might be sick by the look on his face as he took the walnut wand, but with a look of determination and quite some effort, he snapped the wand across his knee. Hermione then conjured a blindingly bright flame to burn out the core. It was a spell she had read about when researching Ministry trials, but had obviously not tried, as it also burned poor Neville's hand as he held the wand for her. Hermione was extremely apologetic and offered to heal his hand, but Neville, staring at his reddened hand, said he was fine.

The question of what to do with their prisoner now became how to move her secretly. The white-haired witch came to their aid there. She was, she claimed, quite adept at transfiguring both size and species at once. "Many has been the times I've sent my sister's young hooligans to bed as newts. An animal that but filled this room, why, I can turn it into a terrier," asserted the old crone. "I shan't have much trouble turning this one into, say, a rat." Gabrielle had to wonder exactly what sort of creature Mister Nubbies was.

So the great oak staff was brought to bear on Bellatrix's unconscious form, and a rat, gaunt with black fur, now lay among the conjured ropes. The rat was placed into a very small cage, then given a good shaking by Ron. "Just, you know, in case," he explained. Hermione added an unbreakable charm to the cage, and lightened it magically as it was unexpectedly heavy. The old woman said that was because the larger size at the start made the smaller animal denser, which is why it was okay to turn children into newts as the newts were tougher than you would think. Gabrielle hoped that Fleur and Maman would not find out about this.

Neither Hermione's wand nor the staff could fix Gabrielle's clothing. The dark curse had ruined the cloth magically, and it would not knit together. How, wondered Gabrielle in frustration, am I supposed to travel like this? And what is with this toad? The large toad had returned, and crawled atop her shoe again. If it thought it could seize this opportunity to try and be her new pet, huffed Gabrielle to herself, it was very presumptuous and very wrong. She shook it off.

Ron stepped forward to help. He pulled off his shirt and offered it to Gabrielle. Gabrielle at first demurred; it was filthy from the debris and, she detected, pretty smelly. Hermione cleaned it with her wand, so, with the boys turned away, Gabrielle had to put it on, shedding the robe and blouse. Ron's shirt was ridiculously large on her - the sleeves practically hung lower the school skirt. Ginny coached Hermione in where to shrink the shirt though, and soon it was fitting more normally. The two witches also changed the shirt's color to scarlet, and added a stylized 'G' on the front in gold. They said it was a 'G' for Gryffindor, and a 'G' for Gabrielle.

Gabrielle's school robe was transfigured into a leather jacket for Ron, albeit one slashed open across the chest. Hermione used some of the shattered cage fragments, magically transformed to chain, to hold the edges closed. Gabrielle thought the look more than a bit retro, but it was better than the scarlet and gray combination she wore. Hermione seemed to like the look a lot.

Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and Ron left the shop in surprisingly high spirits. At least Gabrielle found their demeanor incongruous. Neville was less giddy, but when Gabrielle had finally had enough of the toad and picked the amphibian up to dump it into a jar with a lid, Neville had suddenly cried, "Trevor," and taken the toad from her. It was clear this heartened him a good deal, but it made Gabrielle feel more isolated.

They all said she had been a real Gryffindor, very brave, but Gabrielle did not think so. An unthinking reaction did not make her feel brave. Especially since her ribs and side still ached, and Pepi was still killed. Why, thought Gabrielle, should she be cheerful? Only she had lost something; only she had been hurt. Okay, added her second  
thoughts, Hermione had nearly been killed, Harry had been bleeding, and Ron is favoring his right arm. But, Gabrielle rationalized, she had been kicked and cursed, which counts as two things. Also, the others had another to support them. Neville only had the toad, of course, but she had nobody, nothing. She wanted to feel like someone cared for her, like she was special.

They left the shop, the house-elves, and the old witch intending to head back to the Leaky Cauldron. No doubt, thought Gabrielle, they would stay for tea, and she was tired of tea. Gabrielle decided that she would be the Gryffindor and use her backbone. Before the others started, she turned in the opposite direction and started walking.

"Beebee? Where are you going?" asked Hermione. Gabrielle didn't stop, and waved her arm for them to follow her. Gabrielle wondered if any of them would petrify her, like Fleur would do.

"Oy! Effy! You're going the wrong way," called Ginny. Hmmph, thought Gabrielle, that is only true if I wanted to go where you were going. If only she could be sure how far it was.

Gabrielle could hear Ron clumping up behind her. She didn't stop, but there was no point in speeding up. He would catch her easily. Ah, noticed Gabrielle, there it is. The place was harder to recognize as someone had placed large planters with red geraniums on either side of the door. The splash of color somehow made the drab front even less noticeable.

Ron's hand landed on her shoulder. "Are you mental? We're leaving now."

"No. You will stop for ze tea, and I do not want zat," declared Gabrielle. She twisted out of Ron's grasp and tried to resume walking. He snatched at her collar.

"I could do with a spot of tea, frankly. Like it or nor, right, we have to stay together," said Ron. "Where are you off to anyway? The twins' I suppose."

"I am going zere," said Gabrielle, pointing. Ron looked down the street, trying to discern the destination. Gabrielle used that distraction to kick him in the shin, hard. He released her with a shout, and she ran for it.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape examined the timepiece on the shelf. It was a large carved work, mahogany if he was not mistaken, with fanciful dragons encircling the luminous moonstone face. It showed him that Bellatrix was, according to his judgements of her own schedule, late. He took a moment to clear away the dust with his wand. Narcissa's moods tracked the state of the manor to an alarming degree, and he did not need the angst.

"You're very interested in clocks this morning, dear Severus. Have a meeting with one of those delicious young witches who come calling? Hee hee," laughed Ogden Dickinbottom. His voice was unsuitably high for such a barrel-chested man. His white hair was short and neat, and his facial hair was trimmed into a goatee and mustache. The true state of his health was betrayed by the translucency of his skin and the gasping breaths that came with any exertions. "I'd be very happy to take a meeting with one of them. A clandestine meeting, mayhap. Ah, at least the spirit is willing..." For the third time in the last hour, Snape considered obliviating the old fool and getting rid of him. Confunding and obliviating were Ogden's modus operandi when he preyed on muggles, though. That would make it difficult. "Or maybe you're expecting one of those butch, continental wizards who come seeking the strong guiding hand of a man-friend?"

"I rather think not," said Snape abruptly. "A task, a short errand, was supposed to be completed by now."

"Oh, how boring," commented Ogden. "So - Madame Malfoy. It's Narcissa, isn't it? Lovely name. Her husband is in Azkaban?" Snape did not answer, but glared. "It must be terribly lonely, for such a long time, in such a big bed. Perhaps I can be of some - solace - after our lord invigorates this old shell of mine. A new 'tool' to reward the faithful, hee hee."

"Lucius Malfoy was to be freed soon. Not a wizard who would suffer cuckolding lightly," warned Snape. That is assuming Azkaban has left him whole, thought Snape. The dementors are gone, but the only thing as bad as one's own mind is another's.

"Then Narcissa should be willing to show some gratitude to the Dark Lord, in a very tangible way. If I am to give our lord a body to share, then I think a bit of rent is not out of the question, eh what?"

"Perhaps," replied the former professor. You are a complete fool, thought Snape. And Bellatrix is undoubtably on her way back to the Ministry's clutches. Severus would have to make do with the Malfoy lab, with its gilded glassware of dubious accuracy. He would not, could not, allow Narcissa to be alone with this aging satyr.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle reached the Mended Wand ahead of the limping and cursing Ron. He was clearly angry, as evidenced by the fact he was threatening to use the new Firebolt as a club. She had to pull the door of the pub open, which cost precious distance. Still, Gabrielle had almost made it to the bar before Hermione's pet orangutang grabbed her again. "Oy Slobbo!" cried Gabrielle.

The man behind the bar turned and glared. He held a bar towel in one hand and a heavy, short glass in the other. There was no wand or any weapon in sight. Ron released Gabrielle, though, when the barman growled quietly, "You don't want to be doing that, friend."

Gabrielle finished making her way to the bar and climbed onto a stool. She smiled at Slobbo, and wished he had a less crude-sounding name. "Is Monsieur O'Beirne here?" Slobbo did not seem very pleased to see her and just stared in stoney silence. She had to try and hold the smile.

"Why, it's the wee cuttie. Back again are yeh? And with another rough bowsie. It's not my business, to be sure, but a young lass like yourself should not be walking out with the likes of him," said Mr. O'Beirne in a chastising tone.

"Eh, no, it is not like zat. I am wizz his friends. Please, may I have ze hot chocolate again?" asked Gabrielle, her smile genuine again.

"Wait, you've been here before?" asked Ron. "When -"

"What about yeh... sir?" asked Slobbo to Ron. Gabrielle looked again at the man behind the bar, and wondered why he seemed so angry.

"Er, ah - we can't stay! C'mon Beebee," muttered Ron.

"No. I need ze hot chocolate," declared Gabrielle. She fished out one of her galleons and placed it on the bar. "I can buy you somezing also. And it is Gabrielle, please." Ron looked uncertain. "Sit down," ordered Gabrielle with an imperial wave.

Ron sat. Well, thought Gabrielle, who would have thought that would work. "Make it a butterbeer for me then. Hermione isn't going to like this," said Ron flatly.

"Ze specialitie is ze firewhiskey. Monsieur O'Beirne brings it from, eh, Ireland," informed Gabrielle. "His son makes it."

"Son-in-law, actually," corrected the owner. He pushed a mug with a cloud of whipped cream in front of Gabrielle, and received a smile so bright he blushed.

"Well I suppose if it is the special-all-itty," shrugged Ron. Slobbo snorted at that and plunked a small glass down in front of Ron.

Gabrielle brought the mug to her lips, inhaling the rich aroma, and took a sip. The sound of Ron coughing after a sip sounded far away. The drink was instantly familiar, yet different. The welcoming kitchen floated before her eyes, but the mood was sad and somber. Mournful. The room smelled of hot fields and not a meal cooking. There was a sense of loss weighing on the no longer bright faces that sat across the battered pine table, like they had lost something so completely that nothing of it would remain even as a memory. They came to the kitchen because they had always come to the kitchen, but the sweets, warm affection, and refuge were not there today. It tore at her heart. She needed to do something for these little ones, but they had already heard the words folks say at these times before. They needed someone to show them that the ones who pass on also live on in others' deeds and memories. She reached for the old woman's cast-iron kettle and could feel their eyes following her. What was it again? Water from the spring, cream from this morning's milk, the cake of cocoa, and the spices. Yes, and the amber liquid hidden in the cupboard. What else? The hand-carved whisk - itself a reminder of those who went before. How easy it was to bring the heart of the family back, if only for the time it took to down a mug. She added a bit of whipped cream from her wand - it couldn't be the same; it would never be the same. An eager face, pain forgotten for the moment, reached for the mug and said, "Oy. Effy."

Gabrielle looked up from the mug to find Ginny snapping her fingers in front of her eyes, which Gabrielle found, to her chagrin, were wet with tears. Mr. O'Beirne looked like he was both worried and trying not to smile, and offered her a napkin. Gabrielle used it to dry her eyes. Mr O'Beirne then pointed to his nose with a nod toward her. She touched her nose with her fingers and discovered a blob of cream on it. Gabrielle cleaned her nose with the napkin and licked most of the cream from her fingers. Then she remembered that was not polite behavior for a young woman and finished cleaning her hand with the napkin.

"What's wrong Beebee? Why are you crying?" asked Hermione. She looked over at Ron, who sat on the other side of Hermione now. Gabrielle could see that the bushy-haired girl seemed much paler. The moment had to be catching up.

"It wasn't me!" protested Ron. Gabrielle was surprised. She now sat between Ginny and Hermione, and Harry and Neville sat on the other side of Ginny. When, wondered Gabrielle, had they arrived?

"It is ze, eh, hot chocolate. It is very good, but today it, eh, tastes of, eh..." started Gabrielle looking for the right word. "(Do you know the word mourning?)" she asked Hermione.

"Mourning? Like after a funeral? What are you talking about?" replied Hermione.

"You must have the gift of Seeing, to be sure," exclaimed Mr. O'Beirne. "I was getting a tad misty before on account of it being the anniversary of me Mam's Mam's death, God rest her soul." Gabrielle did not know what to say to that. She decided that asking for a happier hot chocolate would be rude, and sound silly. "These are your  
friends, yun'wan? Well, the first round is on the house, seeing as I've made yeh weep."

"Eh, zank you, very much, but I have, eh, anozzer two galleons," began Gabrielle.

"Well I did say the -first- round, mind. Looks like the lot of yeh could stand a bit of fortification," smiled Mr. O'Beirne. He signalled to Slobbo. The younger man promptly fumbled several glasses across the bar in a noisy clatter. "Oh, get a grip lad," admonished the owner. "He's a bit of a fan," he whispered to Gabrielle with a tilt of his head toward Harry.

v - v - v - v - v

Mr. O'Beirne chatted with Gabrielle. Ginny and Hermione contributed to the conversation, but it was increasingly clear to Gabrielle that the owner was talking just to her. Or, thought Gabrielle, perhaps to someone who he thought she was, since he was overly familiar with the way he spoke and the advice he gave. But then, considered Gabrielle, he met people every day. They probably all ran together after a while.

Gabrielle asked about the group of wizards once more hunched over a crystal ball. She could not honestly say whether they had even changed their clothes since she was here last. Mr. O'Beirne said they were a scrying circle. He said it with such a note of pity in his voice that Gabrielle had to ask what was wrong.

"Scrying is all right for some, no doubt. But, and it is sad to say my cuttie, a good many come to like it a wee too much. They peer into ink or crystal so often that there comes a time where there isn't anything to watch in their own lives, so to speak. Always something elsewhere that's more worth the spying. A circle let's them see more, and so, it's a tragedy, they watch more," explained the owner. "It's said that if one of them of the circle dies and another is not found, the others will go as mad as sheep." Gabrielle was horrified. "Now, now, don't worry yehself. We keeps them fed and watered properly."

"What do zey watch?" asked Gabrielle.

"I bet I know," huffed Ginny indignantly.

"Well, you might. It's people they know, places they've been, and, with a bit of practice, the same they've seen while scrying. That's the reason they fall in with the circles, you see. This lot spends most of the day watching muggle football."

"Eh, I have heard of that," said Gabrielle. What a waste, she thought.

"It's like muggle quidditch, I'm told," added Mr. O'Beirne.

"One of our dorm mates was a supporter," offered Harry.

Slobbo scoffed. "Muggle quidditch? There's no bludgers or snitch - everyone's a chaser 'cept for the keeper, and he only defends one goal. The goal's this bleeding great net of a thing, and they can't hit it most of the time 'cuz they only use their feet or head to move the quaffle. It's shite and bloody boring."

"Here now, watch your language in front of the lasses," warned the owner. "Go on, set up another round." That meant more hot chocolate for the girls, and more of the specialitie for the boys. Slobbo looked somewhat abashed at his own outburst, and went off for a new bottle even though Gabrielle could see the open one was not empty.

Harry stood up suddenly and started digging into a pocket. "Hey, speaking of quidditch, I've got something for you to look at Hermione." He squeezed in, rather rudely in Gabrielle's opinion, between her and Hermione and put a flat box on the bar.

"I see you got a box off of Fred and George," said Hermione a bit sharply. "They owe me two."

"Yeah, these are dead useful. The ones they use at the shop only let you take things out in the order you put them in, and they disappear when the last item is taken out. They said this is a proper one," said Harry, missing her tone. "_Accio_ package." The pocket-sized box disgorged a much larger package onto the bar.

"And what is this?" asked Hermione. Ginny now squeezed in beside Harry, jostling Gabrielle.

"Hey, the Cannons. Mate! The Cannons!" started Ron excitedly. "Where'd you get this?" He started to reach for it.

"No! Don't touch it," warned Harry. That drew the attention of the men behind the bar. "Hermione, can you check it for port-keys?"

"_Portus Revelio_," incanted Hermione sweeping her wand back and forth over the package. Nothing seemed to happen, except Hermione finished  
her mug.

"So... it's okay?" asked Harry.

"Oh, yes. But we'll have to check each layer of wrapping and what's inside, obviously," said Hermione, who then giggled. Harry looked at her. Gabrielle looked at Hermione's mug. There was not that much liquor in the hot chocolate, was there?

"Blow that," laughed Harry. "_Diffindo!_" Harry sliced the top of the package off with vigorous wand work. Gabrielle could see out of the corner of her eye that Slobbo was watching.

"Don't rip the logo," begged Ron.

"Why?" asked Ginny. "Need some new pajamas?"

"Memorabilia," said Ron seriously. "It might be worth a bit to a serious collector."

Hermione giggled again. She did seem flushed. "I don't see how you can call collecting wrappers serious." Neither did Gabrielle, but the expression on Slobbo's face showed he could.

Harry levitated the piece away, and confusion swept across the teens' faces. Gabrielle was distracted by the arrival of another mug with even more whipped cream piled on it.

"What the hell?" murmured Ron. "Is that -" He started reaching.

"Don't touch anything! _Portus Revelio_!" exclaimed Hermione. After a few moments she tipped the package out onto the bar. A silver dagger and a wand clattered out, along with a scroll of parchment. "Er, is this what you were expecting? Where did you get this?"

Ron reached over and picked up the wand. "This is really strange. I could swear this is..."

"I was given it in the quidditch shop," said Harry. He took up the scroll. Ginny picked up the gleaming knife. Harry unrolled the scroll, gaped at the contents, and hissed in anger. "It's from that bastard Snape!"

"Quiet down, Harry. The whole place doesn't need to know," scolded Hermione. "You know, this is not a bad thing. There made be some clues to where he is, for instance."

"Or who he wants you to 'stab into the heart' perhaps?" suggested Ginny. She showed the engraving on the blade.

"Ginny, doesn't this wand look familiar to you?" asked Ron.

"Ginny... Ron - mate - did, uh, your Dad talk to you? It's... uh... Bloody hell," stumbled Harry. He gave the scroll to Hermione. She scanned it quickly, then again after going white in the face.

"Ron that's, oh God, that's Percy's wand. Percy's dead - killed fighting Voldemort," sniffed Hermione. There was a small crash of glass from behind the bar at the name, showing Slobbo at least was still listening.

Gabrielle, who had been scooping whipped cream into her mouth with a finger, was stunned. The clock had been right after all. Had it been right about the other things as well? Had, wondered Gabrielle with a clench in her stomach, George and Fred actually been in 'mortal peril?' She felt cold now.

"Let me see that," said Ron, snatching the scroll. "Argh - I never could read the great bat's tetchy scribble."

"Then let me read it," demanded Ginny. While Ginny read, Gabrielle wondered what Mr. Weasley and Bill had found out. Clearly they had not discovered the truth. "Harry?" asked Ginny suddenly, still staring at the parchment. "Did you read all of this?"

"Er, no. There's more bad news?" asked Harry. "I didn't get past the part about Percy."

"What is it now?" asked Ron, pulling himself together to look more determined than stunned.

"Percy wasn't killed in a fight with You-Know-Who. He was killed - after - a fight with Him!" said Ginny, whispering out the last. "Do you realize what this means?"

"Erm... no. Does that really matter?" asked Harry.

"It does. First, it means Percy wasn't really a total prat after all, when it really came to it. Second, Percy wrecked You-Know-Who's wand. That means he beat V-V-Voldemort. Oh Harry, you can kick Percy's arse any day, which means you can beat V-Voldemort too," gushed Ginny.

"Could have, Ginny, could have kicked his, er, well. The note said it was a Ministry meeting, though - Percy wasn't alone. And You-Know-Who isn't exactly dead himself," said Hermione.

"Um, could I see the parchment again?" asked Harry sheepishly.

"Well so what?" whispered Ginny fiercely. "You-Know-Who wouldn't just hand over his wand. Percy was the last man standing, and that means he stuck it out and didn't run."

"Fine, he was very brave, yes. But what is your Mum going to do?" asked Hermione.

"She's going to go spare, of course. Percy was always her favorite. Getting back his wand back and knowing what he did will help," said Ron grimly.

"Especially since You-Know-Who lost his body again," whispered Ginny excitedly. "He's in the snake. That's Order of Merlin material right there. It won't bring Percy back, but it will make people remember him properly."

"In the snake? Mate, the snake's a two-fer! Maybe that's what the knife is for," said Ron.

"No. The dagger is silver; it's for Frenrir. He's out looking for me," said Harry.

"That's the one who had a go at Bill!" exclaimed Ron, earning a shush from Hermione and Ginny. "Why's the greasy git telling you all this anyway? Thinks he can change sides again, does he?"

"It could be a trap. Maybe it's all lies, trying to lure Harry out," said Hermione. "We don't know if that is really Percy's wand, or if any of those things happened."

"The Weasley clock said Percy was 'lost.' Last night your Dad and Bill tried to find out if anything happened," Harry recounted. "All they could figure out of the papers on Percy's desk was that he had a classified Ministry trip somewhere, and that he had been away at least a day."

"I thought that clock was broken," said Ginny. Harry shrugged.

"Eh, ze clock, it works now," said Gabrielle. The others turned to look at her, as if they had forgotten her again. Her and Neville.

"The rat," said Neville uncertainly.

"What? Oh, yeah," said Ron. Everyone turned to look at the caged rodent, which clung to the sides of the tiny cage with its little claws and stared malevolently at them. "_Stupefy_."

"The rat might know," said Neville.

"That's right," said Ginny. "Ten points for Gryffindor."

"Eh, she wanted ze tonic for ze snake," added Gabrielle. "I heard zat."

"This is probably not the place to work this out" noted Hermione. "We need to think about this."

"This could be a big break," agreed Ron.

"We also need to figure out how much to tell your parents, Ron," added Hermione. "You remember how the Or-, er, well, Moody was about the last trip Harry was on." That brought the mood down, thought Gabrielle. Slobbo, unbidden, topped off the small glasses in front of the boys.

"All right then," said Harry after no one else spoke up. "Let's have a toast to Percy."

"To Percy," repeated the others.


	24. Didn't Go Well

Chapter Twenty-Four - Didn't Go Well

Gabrielle came back to reality to find Ginny shaking her. The filtered sunlight coming through the grimy windows was brighter than the dim little room, lit only by the fire in the hearth, that she had imagined only moments before. It left her blinking.

"Merlin, I hate it when she does that," worried Ginny.

"Give me a sip of her drink," said Hermione. "I can't see her drinking it like that, though, if it's as strong as mine."

"Let me taste yours then," insisted Ginny to Hermione. There was a shuffling of glassware, during which Gabrielle puzzled over the scene she had just glimpsed. There had been a young girl, younger than Gabrielle herself, curled up in a chair. The girl, with curly brunette hair, had one eye nearly swollen shut. She had been fighting with a neighbor boy, and Gabrielle had gazed at her with pride and the knowledge that the young girl had her mother's temperament. Gabrielle also knew that she had best be out to the fields early in the morning, before the household storm broke.

"Wow, that is strong," commented Ginny.

"Is that hers? This one only has a bit in it," said Hermione.

"I think that's mine," replied Ginny.

"This one is pretty strong."

"That's yours."

"Which one is hers then? You keep moving the mugs, Ginny," complained Hermione.

"I don't," said Ginny.

"See? You did just now."

"I was putting them back the way they were. You all right?" asked Ginny.

"I'm fine. Mind, I probably should have had something to eat," replied Hermione.

"Eh, is zis my chocolate?" asked Gabrielle. Ginny was moving them around.

"It's that one," pointed Ginny. "You always try to down it all in one go."

"I do not," protested Gabrielle.

"You do. You should see a healer about these funny turns you have," advised Hermione.

"I do not have zese funny turns," said Gabrielle, feeling picked on. "I was, eh, savoring ze drink."

"It's a Seer trance," declared Mr. O'Beirne. He wiped some hot chocolate from the bar that had spilled when Ginny had shaken Gabrielle. "I had a cousin, once removed - no, make that twice, that had the Gift. Very popular with the dowagers, he was."

"Cor, I hope not," said Ginny firmly. "That's all we'd need: Effy spouting prophecies."

"Did you see something Beebee?" asked Hermione curiously. "Load of dung in my opinion, but it's all right as long as you don't start with the incense."

"No. Zee taste makes, eh, dreams. Also, 'G' is for Gabrielle. You said zat." She pointed to the shirt.

"So you did see something?" asked Ginny incredulously. Why, thought Gabrielle, should it seem so unlikely to Ginny? I am a proper witch, reasoned Gabrielle. I might have many talents. Ones besides, added another thought, those that Fleur complains about.

"I saw a young girl. Her, eh, eye was hurt. She was in a chair by ze fire," said Gabrielle. Although if that was Seeing, then it did not seem very useful. Her coven sisters were not too impressed either.

Mr O'Beirne was. "That was my Annie! She had herself so worried about what I'd do when I found out she handed the neighbor's boy his teeth that she hid most of the day in the root cellar. Well, he was naught but a bully, served him right. A hot mug always cheered my little girl up."

Hermione giggled, "Not really Seeing though, is it? More like Saw-ing."

"Erm... yeah," shrugged Ginny, squinting at her friend.

"Get it? Saw-ing, like Seeing only you see the past - do you see? I mean not see as in See but see as in understand," explained Hermione.

"Ooo-kay! Maybe we should be heading back," suggested Ginny.

"Where are ze boys?" asked Gabrielle, noticing the empty seats.

"Watching muggle football. Can you believe it? They were supposed to be remembering the best times with Percy," said Ginny with a huff. "Claimed they ran out already."

There was a shout from Ron, which drew the girls' attention. He spun around and around with the little cage on the end of his arm, until he collided with Neville. That sent the round-faced boy to the floor, but also allowed Harry to stun the rat again and work it off of Ron's finger. Hermione found the scene uproariously funny. Gabrielle found it very embarrassing, as they were supposed to be with her. Ginny found it all irritating. The wizards in the scrying circle did not seem to notice it at all even though one's pointed hat was knocked askew.

"- Crookshanks when you need him," muttered Ron as he stomped up to the three witches. He stared at Hermione's mass of brown hair piled on the bar, which hid her face. Her shoulders shook. "What's up with her?" Gabrielle could see blood dripping from his right hand.

"She's a bit pissed," sighed Ginny.

"No way," breathed Ron.

"Yeah, even cracking, uh, jokes. Of a sort."

"I should have that wanker Harry stop the bleeding then?" asked Ron. Hermione's head shot up.

"You're hurt? Let me see," ordered Hermione.

"It's nothing really," said Ron in what Gabrielle had come to think of as his I'm-so-manly voice. "After Scabbers and this one, I'm definitely off rats."

"It's a deep bite," fretted Hermione. Her prodding was making Ron wince. She did not notice.

"Here," said Slobbo as he put a jar on the bar. "We keep this around in case of fights."

It was Essence of Dittany. Gabrielle recognized it because Maman has used quite a lot of it on her when the crup had bitten her leg.

"Oh," said Hermione. "That's handy."

Harry returned guiding Neville back to his seat. Neville looked a mess, but he and Harry were still laughing and joking at Ron's expense. Gabrielle was beginning to realize that coming to the pub may have been a mistake. Ginny was right. It was time to leave. "What will you do wizz ze rat?" asked Gabrielle.

"Tie a rock to the cage and chuck it into the Thames gets my vote," grumbled Ron. Hermione was finished with him and was working on Neville's injured face.

"Ron! We can't just do that because it's a witch we don't like," protested Hermione. "We need to get he to the Ministry somehow."

"A wizard we don't like," echoed Harry, his brow furrowed. "Mate, I have had a thought."

"If it's anything like your last one I'm sure itsa corker. Poke 'er to see if she's dead. Honestly," complained Ron. Gabrielle thought that was a bit unfair to Harry. She also wondered if Harry had learned that from George and Fred.

"There's a certain, er, piece of jewelry, if you follow me, that might fit," said Harry with a series of exaggerated winks and nods. "Hermione's got that torch spell, right? I'll open it, you block whatever happens, and she melts the thing. We'd be back in time for pudding with one less worry."

"Uh, Harry? A smashing plan, really, but don't you think it would be better to wait until we're home?" asked Ginny.

"I'm not taking that to the Burrow!" said Ron loudly. Both Harry and Ginny waved at him to quiet down.

"I certainly agree with that," declared Hermione. "If you did, you have to start calling it the Warren." Everyone stared at her for a long moment. "A burrow is also an animal's home, but rats don't live in burrows. They live in warrens. You see it now? It's a similile, er, simile."

"Ha! I see it now. Ha! Ha!" laughed Ron theatrically, hugging Hermione. He rolled his eyes looking over her head, which elicited laughs from the others. That made Hermione smile. Gabrielle thought it was very cute, but wondered, a little, what Ron saw in Hermione.

"You think she's up for it Harry?" asked Ginny, indicating Hermione.

"I'm feeling quite good, at the moment, actually," smiled Hermione.

"Hey, let's have Neville cancel the curses," said Ron suddenly. "That would make it - whaddya call it? - an iconic thing."

"You mean ironic, Ron" corrected Hermione. She started giggling again. "Get it? I -Ron-ic."

"This could be bad," said Ginny. Gabrielle could sense it too. She wondered if she could just wait with Mr O'Beirne.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle trudged behind the others, carrying Trevor the toad. She had to keep both hands around the amphibian because Trevor had his own ideas of how he wanted to be carried, and she did not want him to try using her hair to climb again. Neville was made to carry the rat's cage as Ron had started to bang it against anything they passed that was hard, attracting attention. Harry was under the invisibility cloak. None of the others seemed worried about how they would be able to follow Harry like that. Hermione pressed against Ron, and Ginny helped steer the two of them.

They had just passed a narrow alley between two buildings when an invisible speaker called out, "Oy!" A disembodied arm, belonging to Harry waved for them to through the gap.

The passage way led back to a larger space that opened up behind the two buildings. It was fenced in on three sides, and was dirty and crowded with stacks of crates. The area was also dimly lit by the dark gray sky, which was odd because it had been much brighter in the street. It was not somewhere where she should be, thought Gabrielle again.

"This must be right up against the barrier," said Ginny, indicating the dark grayness beyond the wooden fence.

"What? Maybe. I don't know," said Harry. "But there's no windows and we can block the alley easy enough."

"So what's the plan?" asked Ron.

"First, we stun the rat and change her back. Then we'll tie her up and see to the locket," replied Harry.

"Uh, Harry? How will we turn her back into a rat again after that?" asked Ginny.

"We don't. She's got no wand and she's wanted by the Ministry. We can't take her in to them, and we can't take her with us to the Burrow. So we'll leave her tied-up here."

"She's disguised though," said Ron. "What if no one recognizes her?"

"It's just her hair's different. I know a hairless hex, and we can pin a note on her," suggested Harry. Gabrielle perked up at that; she would have to pay close attention.

"Well, that's sorted," asserted Hermione, pulling out her wand. "Who's turn is it to stun her?"

It was Neville's turn. Since the cage was too small for the rat, gaunt as it was, to even turn around, he was able to get his wand right into the rodent's ear.

"I wonder if all this stunning will scramble her brains?" said Hermione.

"I wonder if I care?" said Ron, giving her a wink.

The cage was opened and the rat slid onto the ground. Hermione conferred with Harry while Ron and Neville stood warily over the transfigured witch with their wands at the ready. Ginny had retreated to the opening to watch the alley. Gabrielle wondered if she was too close. It might be better to be behind those crates.

Before Gabrielle could decide, Hermione and Harry cast a spell in unison and the black rat grew into the Death Eater. Gabrielle had been too close, and was tripped up as the body expanded. Ron pulled her back up off the ground, but not before laughing at her predicament. Trevor plodded away.

"Ze hair is different," pointed out Gabrielle. It was true that the blond witch now had dark hair, but mostly it was to distract the others from joining with Ron.

"Probably a simple glamour then, badly done," shrugged Hermione.

"_Incarcerous_," aimed Ron. Thin ropes wrapped the still comatose witch.

"Speaking of badly done, Ron, that could have been done better," judged Hermione.

"Why? She's not going to get loose and she's out of it anyway," said Ron.

"Yes, but it could have been more artful. Like this. _Incarcerous_," said Hermione with a lot of wand-waving. The thin ropes from her wand wound up and down Bellatrix's fallen form, crisscrossing themselves and tying into an intricate pattern. Gabrielle was reminded of Monsieur Lunky's shop for some reason. She didn't say anything; no one did. "Well, obviously if there isn't time then you go with what you can..."

"It's tops," said Ron quickly. "It really is." He nodded fervently, making Hermione smile again. Gabrielle looked at him in a new light. He was getting to be quite good at spoiling Hermione. Was it the firewhiskey, or was he expecting a metaphorical biscuit?

"We need to prop her up against those crates," ordered Harry. Ron helped him drag the trussed witch over and fold her into a sitting position, her head lolling forward. The locket, on the thin chain, was placed around her neck.

This suddenly looked very wrong to Gabrielle. She knew the locket had something to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that Harry said it needed to be destroyed. But she did not understand why that awful witch was needed. The locket seemed to glint in more light than there was, and looked horribly ominous dangling there. Gabrielle decided that she was definitely too close. That was something her legs had decided moments before, and she found herself near Ginny.

"Ginny," whispered Gabrielle. "What will happen?"

Ginny pulled her gaze away from the locket. "Something bad," Ginny replied in a hoarse whisper. Her coven sister shook herself, "You're the Seer here, right? What do you think is gonna happen?"

Gabrielle watched Harry arrange the others. He was off to the side of Hermione, who was in front. Neville stood on one side of Bellatrix and Ron knelt on the other side holding their captive upright. "Somezing bad," agreed Gabrielle.

"_Innoxus Serpensortia_," called out Harry. He bent down to scoop up the summoned snake, hissing quietly until the snake calmed and wrapped around his arm. "All right," said Harry to the others. "Let's give it a go." He hissed more sharply, and the locket opened.

Immediately the thin chain tightened around Bellatrix's neck. "_Engorgio_," blurted Neville. It worked, but the chain soon began to tighten again.

Gabrielle stared at the locket. It was beautiful. Gabrielle had not seen its true form before, and now felt a pang of regret that it would be destroyed. She should say something; make them reconsider their intentions. They did not need to destroy the locket. She could just take it back to France! You-Know-Who would not find it there. Ginny stepped forward, and Gabrielle realized that the older girl could help her. "Eh..." started Gabrielle. The locket closed of its own accord, and Gabrielle found that she had forgotten the elegant, cogent argument she was going to make.

"Uh, Hermione? That was sort of your cue," noted Harry. "It doesn't want to stay open."

Hermione blinked at him. "What? Oh, er, sorry. Er, do you think this is wise? We seem to be rushing into things. I could, um, take it. Erm, that is, take it to -"

"No. We do it now. Light your wand, Hermione," ordered Harry. Hermione looked briefly mutinous, but then brought forth the blinding, blue-white flame under Harry's piercing stare. Harry opened the locket again with a sibilant whisper.

In the brilliant light from Hermione's wand, Gabrielle could see the locket glittering like the most perfect diamond. It was achingly beautiful. If she wore it, realized Gabrielle, George would really see her and fall deeply in love. Ginny began to advance again, and Gabrielle grabbed her arm. Harry already loves her, thought Gabrielle. I need the locket.

"_Engorgio_," incanted Neville. "_Engorgio_." Harry continued hissing. The snake moved rhythmically from side to side.

"No," murmured Hermione. "It, it isn't like that. He, he does. No - no, it's not true..."

Gabrielle struggled with Ginny. She is a greedy, grasping harridan, thought Gabrielle. She won't be invited to my wedding.

"_Engorgio!_" cried Neville frantically. "_Engorgio!_ Harry!" The chain the locket hung from was no longer loosening much. Bellatrix's eyes snapped open and she looked around wildly, already purple in the face. Ron fought to hold her in place as she started to thrash.

"Hermione! Go on, do it!" shouted Ron. "Gah!" He pulled his hands away from their captive as if from a shock, then grabbed her again.

"_Engorgio! Engorgio! Engorgio!_" chanted Neville. The chain now dug into flesh, drawing blood.

Gabrielle kicked Ginny viciously in the knee, but could not break free from Ginny's grasp. Gabrielle's thoughts screamed at her to get the locket; to get the locket and hide it away from everyone forever. Wait, puzzled a second thought. How will George see it if I do that?

The moment of distraction cost Gabrielle her advantage. Ginny shoved her hard, flinging her away. Gabrielle stumbled backward, tripped, and fell onto Hermione before hitting the ground with her head. She knew the locket was lost to the red-haired bitch and cried out.

Hermione, white as a ghost and oblivious to the ruckus behind her, was pitched forward. Instinct threw her arms forward, and the flaring wand tip found its way into the locket before the spell ended. A cry of anguish came from the coven. A shout of horror came from the boys. A shower of gold sparks erupted from the locket. It ended with a cracking that sounded like a cauldron splitting, and a damp thud as Bellatrix's head hit the ground.

Neville staggered away and was sick behind the crates. Harry and Ron stood frozen in open-mouthed shock. Ginny's and Hermione's wails from the loss of the locket turned into screams of horror. Gabrielle did not scream. She was still on the ground, staring at the Death Eater's severed head laying on its cheek with its eyes staring right back. It was so far from Gabrielle's normal reality that she could make no sense of it. She looked at it, unable to turn away. Run, suggested a thought, run, move, go. Gabrielle rolled onto her hands and knees. Her head hurt, which temporarily over-ruled even the best ideas.

Hermione, sweating and quaking, began casting spells. The first few were aimed at the alleyway. The next couple were aimed at Neville, who then stopped throwing up, and the distraught Ginny, who was hobbling around torn between anger at the runty cow who had kicked her and panic over what her parents would do when they found out. Hermione's legs gave out at that point, and she sat on the ground hugging her knees to her chest.

Gabrielle stumbled upright, looked at the bloody mess around her, and circled around until she had put Ron between her and the gore. She would have hid behind Harry, but that was closer to where Neville had been sick and, anyway, Ron blocked more of the scene. The locket lay in a puddle of blood. It did not look damaged on the outside, but it was still open. Gabrielle no longer wished to have it around her neck. She no longer wished to be anywhere near this place, or these people. Gabrielle had thought she was destined to help Harry. She decided now that Harry was quite capable on his own and she would very much like to go home - home to Maman and Papa.

Maman and Papa! They were arriving today, remembered Gabrielle suddenly. She would, she would - would what, wondered Gabrielle. She couldn't exactly tell them what she had been doing as she was not supposed to be doing it. Then Gabrielle, sagging, realized that her Maman would somehow know anyway - she always knew. Maybe there is some Seer blood, came a second thought.

"Bloody hell," said Ron finally. "We killed her."

"The locket killed her," corrected Harry. That was true, thought Gabrielle, at least semantically. She suspected that others might note that he had put the locket on the dead witch.

Ron noticed Hermione, and rushed to her side. Gabrielle trailed him, wishing to keep him between the dead witch and herself. "Are you hurt Are you all right?" he asked Hermione. Ron reached out to help her up.

"Don't - don't touch me, Ron!" said Hermione shrilly.

"Yeah right. If you're hurt I want to know," said Ron. He picked her up by her waist, and she began flailing.

"Put me down! I'm not that kind of girl!" protested Hermione from within Ron's bear hug. "I'm not," she sobbed.

"You're barking mad, is what you are," muttered Ron as he tried to hold her still squashed against him.

"Is that all you can think of?" cried Hermione, pushing against his neck.

"What are you on about? Merlin! Watch those bloody nails, will ya? So I'm hungry - I can't help it," protested Ron. Hermione stopped struggling and went limp.

"No - it was the locket," said Ginny. "It, it put thoughts in our heads. I - I recognized the voice," whispered Ginny.

"I didn't have any thoughts in my head," declared Ron. "Er, I mean -" Hermione, slumped against Ron's chest, started to twitch.

"Natural state of affairs, innit?" noted Ginny.

"Ron, you weren't in front of the damned thing," Harry pointed out. "We should have thought about that. It could have been bad." Gabrielle's eyes widened. She had been in front also - closer than Ginny! Had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put thoughts in her head as well? Mon Dieu!

"Like it went well in the first place," complained Ron.

"Eh, I would like to go home now. Please," said Gabrielle. She waved her hand imperially, but couldn't bring herself to smile. Neville waved back at her.

v - v - v - v - v

It was not easy to leave. There was a lot of cleaning up to do. Whatever Hermione, who had not been crying as Gabrielle expected but laughing, thought that Ron thought about her was erased by her realization that Ron was an idiot. She told him so, which made Ron look hurt until she gave him a hug. Then Hermione turned her attention to the body.

For reasons Gabrielle didn't really pay attention to, the others had decided to take the body with them. Hermione, upon Harry's suggestion, transfigured the body into a bone. Two bones, actually, which when Gabrielle thought about it made her bile rise. Ron and Neville vanished the spilled and splattered blood. Harry, after several aborted trials, replicated the flame spell that Hermione had used and worked over the remnants of the locket. He managed to melt a hole through the front lid and cut the chain before a splash of molten silver burned a hole through his denims. Ginny and Gabrielle, unable to use magic to help, looked for the toad. Trevor was found amongst the crates, finally. He had managed to wriggle under a grubby, battered bucket. Gabrielle thought that to be rather clever for a toad. She still didn't want one for a pet.

Leaving the alleyway meant returning to the brighter light of Diagon Alley. That, and Ron's stomach rumbling, made it clear that they had best hurry back to the Burrow. Before they could do that, however, they had to return to Eeylops to get Dobby's help. Harry needed the house-elf to get some muggle money from Gringotts to get the car.

There was a small crowd of wizards and witches outside of Eeylops trying to peer in through the windows. Hermione veered off and continued toward the Leaky Cauldron. Gabrielle caught snatches of conversation from the crowd as they passed by.

"... you tried Diordan's Dimensional Door?"

"As if you could cast that! The blighters have definitely done something it."

"Wasn't that the loon on the racing broom from before?"

"Tsk, the way young folk dress today. Looked just like muggles. No standards these days - none."

"That's why I support the Chairman. More wizard-only areas! Just what's needed to protect..."

Hermione stopped a little ways away. "What are we stopping here for? Why didn't we go in?" asked Ron.

"Isn't it obvious, er, Ron?" said Hermione. Her voice caught when she said his name. Gabrielle wondered if it would be considered rude to ask the older girl what the locket had done. Hadn't they pledged to keep each other's secrets?

"That lot would be inside if they could get inside," clarified Ginny.

"Dobby would let us in," said Ron. "Harry can ask him."

"Harry can't do that and stay invisible," argued Ginny. "Bellatrix may not have been alone."

"Anyway, it would look a bit funny for Dobby just to let us in and nobody else. We shouldn't be drawing attention to ourselves, we shouldn't be out of the ordinary," added Hermione.

"But if we were out of the ordinary," said Ron slowly, "then it would be okay for Dobby to let us in?"

"Well, that would be a reason to admit us only," agreed Hermione. "But -"

"We could glamour ourselves as officials from the Ministry," suggested Ginny.

"Yes, but we would have to try to look like easily recognizable figures," doubted Hermione. "You just can't barge about claiming to be from the Ministry."

"Why not? That sounds like the Ministry to me," said the thin air next to Neville. It was Harry. "Er, except, obviously, your Dad, And Tonks. And, uh, Shack."

Gabrielle did not see why they could not just call for Dobby right there in the street. She did not want to go back to the owl shop. They were just wasting time, standing around and suggesting ridiculous disguises. When Ron suggested being a contingent of goblin guards, Gabrielle had had enough. "Why are we to go to ze shop? I do not want to go zere! You will take me to ze Burrow. Eh, please," she ordered. Gabrielle tried the Hand Wave of Command again, forcing a smile.

"She's completely balmy!" blurted Ron, breaking the silence her demand had created. It had not worked, and Gabrielle's face heated. Was she doing it wrong?

"And getting a bit full of herself," said Ginny archly.

"Don't forget, Ginny, that Beebee was in front of the, the locket too," reminded Hermione. "It's bound to be a great, er, shock, to her." Lovely, thought Gabrielle, now I am not only a lunatic but a distraught lunatic.

"We could try being foreign," suggested Ron. "Eye would like to buy zee owell, see voo please," he added slowly and loudly. Gabrielle stood and stared at her future brother-in-law, dumbfounded. Is that what he thought of her family?

"It might work - if you kept quiet," laughed Ginny.

"What - a group of foreign wizards coming all the way to Britain, at a time like this, just to hit the shops?" asked Hermione. "Just for the autumn collection of... owls?"

"No, for her," said Harry suddenly.

"Are you pointing Harry? You know we can't see you," said Ginny.

"Uh, sorry. I was thinking that we could be a group of French wizards that were with Gabrielle. She's part Veela, right? We could be her, er, bodyguards," explained Harry.

"No, her entourage," said Hermione. "If we dress her up a bit, she could pass as a celebrity from France. The rest of us would be her handlers, agents, bodyguards, and so forth. Oh, it would be perfect! We could claim that the shop was closed for her privacy - too many fans, too many reporters."

"I don't know," said Ginny doubtfully. "What'd she be famous for? She's kind of, er, young. Should we get those falsies she had on earlier?"

"It doesn't really matter what she's famous for," started Hermione.

"Not for singing, surely," interrupted Ginny.

"I mean, some people are celebrities just because of who they are, like an heiress, for example. Or royalty," continued Hermione.

"Eh, I do not want to go to zat shop," repeated Gabrielle. It was not much of an argument.

"Yes, you said that before," acknowledged Ginny. "But we need Dobby's help to be able to get the car."

"Dobby, eh, he would come here, if you asked it," argued Gabrielle.

"He would, but the other house-elves would panic if he just left. It's important to Dobby, right? So we'll go to him. Unless there's an emergency," replied Harry with finality.

v - v - v - v - v

With no one willing to listen to the common sense in her arguments, Gabrielle had nothing to do than to be Hermione's own personal dress-up doll. Hermione seemed to know most everything and appeared capable of most any spell, but Gabrielle could not help noticing that the older witch definitely had some issues. What else could explain the ridiculous pastel pink gown Gabrielle's clothes had been transfigured into? And, thought Gabrielle, while a pointed hat was certainly appropriate wizarding wear, what could explain the ludicrous, tall pink cone on her head? Gabrielle tried to put out of her mind the fact that Hermione had found the raw material for it in a rubbish bin. Gabrielle did not know all the muggle celebrities, but none of the celebrities she did know of, magical or not, dressed like some sort of medieval courtier.

Gabrielle did like the entourage part though. You could not, noted Gabrielle, help but feel important. Ron and Neville, with added goatees and clothes magicked to resemble Durmstrang uniforms, were her guards. Old cauldron cake wrappers became vests for them to hide the slash that remained in Ron's borrowed robes. Ron's hair was darkened to more closely match Neville's, something Hermione fussed over for a while. The bushy-haired with changed her own clothes into a business suit. She was to be the guide or chaperone or something. Gabrielle was to speak only in French. Ron and Neville were to just grunt, if necessary. Ginny, dressed as a maid and very unhappy about it, was also not to speak. Gabrielle had a rag that was transfigured into a lace handkerchief. She dropped it on the way to the shop, then waited for Ginny to pick it up. Ha, thought Gabrielle, mock my singing, will you?

Hermione kept up a non-stop litany of advice on how to act, in French of course, but Gabrielle did not need that. She simply did as Fleur would do while shopping. The key was to look past a person first, then, after a moment, to focus on them. A brief wrinkle of the nose in disgust was all that Fleur needed to send them off, or a slight lift of the lips to offer them attention.

And it worked. While Ron and Neville grunted and harumphed to cover Harry's whispers to Dobby through the door, Gabrielle allowed the staring crowd a token of acknowledgement, one by one. She could hear the coos of glee and see the satisfaction or admiration in their eyes. They had no idea who she was or why she was dressed in a ridiculous pink gown, but it was suddenly important to them that Gabrielle make eye contact. Gabrielle could hear the whispered chatter.

"... wish our Elrond could meet a girl like that."

"... closed the shop for her and everything. Right here on Diagon Alley. Imagine!"

"But who is she? Looks continental. They have royalty in Monaco, right?"

"... makes me wish I was a young man again."

"What is - that - supposed to mean you ungrateful, old, dried-up bone? See to your own supper tonight!"

v - v - v - v - v

The entourage entered the shop as planned. Gabrielle's bodyguards went first, then after a moment long enough for the cloaked Harry to slip in, Gabrielle and Hermione proceeded in. Gabrielle paused to wave farewell to the crowd, and dropped the handkerchief. Ginny went in last, stooping to pick up the fallen item. That never got old.

The shop looked to be completely restored. The house-elves had somehow managed to rebuild the shattered support, piece by piece. Gabrielle supposed that they hadn't been able to find all the original fragments though, as there were some places where the reassembled shards were a completely different color. It was amazing, still, given the earlier destruction. It was also clear, thought Gabrielle, that these house-elves were also suffering from... whatever it was Hermione had called it. The thin witch who ran the shop, and who didn't look particularly well at all, was sitting quietly in a circle of biscuits with five steaming cups of tea spaced around her like candles on a pentagram. Gabrielle further noticed that not only had the shop been repaired structurally and cleaned, but the elves had attempted to repair the wrecked merchandise as well using spellotape; a lot of spellotape. Some cages were half metal and half wound, layered, and sculpted tape. More disturbingly, the occupants of the cages appeared similarly cobbled together from bits of cloth, paper, and tape. Besides being the fodder for future nightmares though, the poor creatures seemed quite blasé about their conditions.

A horrible thought came to Gabrielle and she covered her face with her hands in case it was true. What if there was a, a, a zombie Pepi, sewn together like one of those muggle footballs? That would be too awful to see. Although, a small part of Gabrielle thought that it might be pretty cool.

"I'm not picking that bloody kerchief up in here," announced Ginny grumpily. Gabrielle had dropped it again, entirely by accident this time. "And when I can use my wand again..."

"My goodness, Dobby. You've been very, er, thorough," said Hermione looking around. She stared at the patchwork creatures with a worried look. "Amazing. Very, er, very, uh..."

"Bloody creepy is what it is," interjected Ron. He had a handful of biscuits from the circle.

"Ron!" warned Hermione.

"Harry Potter did say to put it right," said Dobby reproachfully. "We have done our best, miss."

"It's brilliant Dobby," said Harry quickly, emerging from the cloak. "Er, I need you to run an errand now for me, if it isn't too much to ask."

"Dobby is happy for running errands for Harry Potter!" enthused Dobby, smiling broadly.

"What's up with her?" asked Ginny while pointing to the shopkeeper. Gabrielle peeked through her hands, feeling a bit silly for the over-reaction. Gabrielle took a cautious look around.

"She is not drinking the tea," replied Dobby seriously.

"Come again?" asked Ginny.

"She is not drinking the tea," repeated Dobby. "It would make her feel better. Mistress Esme is saying she has no backbone but Mistress Esme is wrong. Lolly checked. Mistress did something with her staff. Tea would help." Dobby nodded sagely. He eyed the shelf next to him. "Dobby wonders if Mistress Esme is a not-nice witch." The other house-elves, peeking out in silence in a group from behind the cat toy display, went even quieter. Gabrielle went over to the area where the shelf had fallen, just to see if... well, just to see.

"She seemed all right to me, Dobby. Er, she didn't call the Ministry did she?" asked Harry. There was a loud thud, which made Gabrielle straighten up from her search of a lower rack. Dobby had smacked his head against the shelf. He was preparing for another run at it. "Come on," said Harry quickly. "One is enough."

"Oy! Dobby! Can I have some of this tea, then?" called Ron from where the thin witch sat. Dobby turned to the other elves, who stepped apart themselves, turning to a small female elf with a nose like a shrivelled carrot. Her large, yellow eyes were wide with nervousness, but she managed a brief nod before trying to squeeze back into the circle of house-elves that had formed around her. "Thanks. I'm dying for a cuppa," said Ron appreciatively.

Gabrielle was not interested in tea. She browsed among the cages and poked among the boxes. She wasn't exactly looking for Pepi, or whatever it was that Pepi had become, but she had to know. And in a short aisle, almost an alcove, Gabrielle found something that took her breath away.


	25. Home Again

Chapter Twenty-Five - Home Again

It was not Pepi. Sitting on a moss pad in a crockery pot, the spiderwebs of fine, barely visible cracks bearing witness to its fate, was a toad. Or, that is, a house-elf recreation of a toad, in their medium of choice: spellotape. But it was beautiful. The layers of shiny tape, crumpled and contoured into the curves of the original amphibian, shimmered like a jewel. A moving jewel, if not a living one. Gabrielle opened her palm, and the toad clambered into her hand. Unlike Trevor, who was vaguely damp and squashy, the spellotape felt almost warm and very light. It was like holding a crystal. Gabrielle had to have it. She had one galleon left - would it be enough? She should not have been so generous at the Mended Wand.

That thought made her feel guilty. Gabrielle knew that she had forced the others to come along, so some of it was her fault, and Mr. O'Beirne had been so nice. It also seemed disloyal to Pepi - the memory of Pepi. Why should a zombie toad be more acceptable than a zombie puffskein? Gabrielle knew the answer and felt worse: the toad was like a living glass sculpture while Pepi was likely to be a mass of stitches and look like a beat-up red quaffle. There was nothing else for it, though, decided Gabrielle. She would find Pepi and take care of him regardless of his hideous condition. And she would buy the toad.

Resolve strengthened, Gabrielle renewed her search for the unfortunate pygmy puffskein, letting the toad crawl into her sleeve. She decided to check some of the places she had already looked into again, since it occurred to her that Pepi may not necessarily be all the same color anymore.

It was soon clear, however, that there was no Pepi to be found. Owls with forks for talons, yes, and owls with real wings but bodies of woven rags. But nothing like a puffskein. Gabrielle was both relieved and disappointed. The others were clustered near the thin witch with the leather apron. Dobby was still there, but the other house-elves were either hiding better or they had left. Gabrielle went toward the counter to see how much the toad cost.

Gabrielle passed Hermione, who was whispering to Harry. Ginny, further away, chatted with the shopkeeper. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? This Mistress Esme has modified her memory. And with a rather heavy hand, I would say," diagnosed Hermione.

"She does seem a bit, er, off," agreed Harry.

"A bit off?" huffed Hermione indignantly. "Harry, she barely remembers who she is. She thinks whoever or whatever Mister Nubbies is did all this. It isn't right for someone to do that."

"Unless it's a muggle?" argued Harry. "The Ministry has no problems with it."

"Unless it's done by an expert," shot back Hermione. "And what were all those biscuits about? It was a weak ward, I'm sure of it."

"Dobby said the tea would help her. Maybe they, er, didn't want her in the way?" replied Harry uncertainly. The two of them noticed Gabrielle then, and stopped. After what happened earlier, thought Gabrielle, now they want to exclude me? Gabrielle continued to the shopkeeper.

"Eh, excusez-moi," said Gabrielle, addressing the thin witch. "What is ze cost of ze toads?" The shopkeeper looked around wildly, panicked.

"Might be written down?" suggested Ginny.

"Written down? Yes. Yes, that's it, I'm sure. It's written down," said the thin witch in a tremulous voice. "Can I help you?"

"Eh... How much is ze toad?" asked Gabrielle again.

"It is written down," replied the witch from behind the counter.

"Perhaps in that book just there?" hinted Ginny. "The one with 'schedule of prices' written on it?" She turned to Gabrielle. "You really want a toad?"

"Oui. It is one zat the house-elves, eh, repaired."

"Animals Mister Nubbies damaged are fifty percent off," said the thin witch in a surprised tone, as if her words were not her own.

"That sounds fair. Er, how about I help look it up?" offered Ginny. She didn't wait for a reply, but pulled the book from the witch's hands. "Sure you won't have some tea?"

"I only drink herbal teas. One needs to conserve heartbeats for a long life. How can I help you?" replied the shopkeeper.

"Herbs are plants; tea is from plant leaves. All tea is herbal tea," argued Ginny. "You take a few sips and see if I'm wrong."

"All right," agreed the shopkeeper. She didn't take up a cup though.

"She's going to need St. Mungos," said a worried Ginny to Gabrielle. "Toads are - wait, is this right? Toads are four sickles? Is that apiece? If we didn't have garden gnomes the Burrow would be overrun with toads!"

"Specially bred," claimed the shopkeeper as if by rote, her eyes sharpening briefly.

"Come on, Effy. You don't want a fat, ugly toad. And if you do, there's dozens in the woods near the pond," advised Ginny.

Gabrielle already had her galleon out, and passed it to the thin witch. The shopkeeper smiled politely but then just stood there holding the coin.

"Honestly, it's a waste of money," chided Ginny. To the witch behind the counter, Ginny ordered, "Put that away and give her fifteen sickles. Look in that metal box. Yes, that one - how many boxes do you see?" Ginny turned back to Gabrielle. "I'm not sure we can leave her on her own. You know, George would probably give you another pygmy puffskein."

Would he, wondered Gabrielle. George seemed to ignore her earlier. The shopkeeper counted twenty-one sickles into Gabrielle's hand.

"Eh -"

"Budge over you and let me deal with her," commanded Ginny. The shopkeeper stood aside meekly. "That old hag was right: she has the backbone of a flobberworm," muttered Ginny to Gabrielle. "Give me back six of those sickles. Where is the toad?"

"Eh, he crawled up my sleeve," answered Gabrielle. In truth, she was hiding the toad. If they saw how beautiful it was it would surely cost more than it did.

"Bleah," said Ginny with a shiver, before turning to the shopkeeper again. "Snap out of it, will ya? Drink the blasted tea!"

"All right. Can I help you?"

"Harry? Give me your wand."

"Ooh, it's Harry Potter..."

v - v - v - v - v

By the time the group was making ready to leave, the shopkeeper seemed less detached from reality. That was mostly due to the forcible application of the house-elf tea, which was accomplished by using a Petrificus spell and Gabrielle's weird pink cone as a make-shift funnel. It was more than a little messy. Hermione and Ginny were working at cross-purposes, so Gabrielle retreated behind Ron again. He was the biggest splash-guard.

Dobby disappeared and then reappeared with more tea. Gabrielle wondered if the shopkeeper would survive without drowning. Dobby also brought a small, brass wire cage with a small red something in it. He presented it to Gabrielle, and explained earnestly that they had tried their best. Gabrielle's first reaction was to cringe. At least until she got a better look at the thing. It was...

It was not Pepi's poor body with the terrible gashes and horrible wounds sewn shut with crude stitching, as she had imagined. The little red ball looked very much like a... bobble, snipped from a child's knit hat. Exactly like one, really. The ball of yarn rolled itself to her hand when she held the cage. Gabrielle very nearly dropped it in surprise. A red... tongue, perhaps? - slid out from the ball and flicked her skin. The tongue looked, to Gabrielle's eyes, like a strand of licorice whip. The thing acted like Pepi, but what was it?

"Eh, zank you. Eh, is it... alive?" Gabrielle asked Dobby.

"Dobby is sorry, madwozell, but it is not. Madwozell's puffskein is happy in there," said Dobby. He smiled hopefully at Gabrielle.

"Does it need, eh, to eat?" asked Gabrielle. She tickled the yarn. It was rougher than Pepi's fuzz had been, and the... thing seemed to enjoy it.

"It is only yarn," replied Dobby. The little creature wrapped its bit of licorice around her finger like Pepi would do with his tongue. It was so endearing that Gabrielle knew it really was Pepi inside the yarn somehow. He may be one of the undead now, thought Gabrielle, but he was still her pet. Gabrielle decided to rechristen him Pepi-Z.

"Zank you, very much," smiled Gabrielle. She opened the cage and tucked the bobble-bodied Pepi-Z into her other sleeve.

v - v - v - v - v

Leaving the shop presented a problem. The crowd of curious wizards and witches had grown considerably, as had the violence of their attempts to open the door. Several colorful explosions had rattled the door, but did not break it down. Gabrielle was not looking forward to facing the larger crowd. The entourage ruse did not sound as much fun anymore, since she would only have the two grunting bodyguards. Ron and Harry nixed slipping out the back door under a disillusion spell as being too obvious. Dobby suggested using the side door, which he would make for Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friends.

Dobby made an opening in the side of the owl shop with meticulous care. There had to be some magic, thought Gabrielle. It didn't seem possible for the house-elf to be able to pull apart the bricks and mortar so quickly and neatly without it. She had no doubt, looking at the carefully stacked bricks and lacework of mortar, that it would all  
go back into place.

While Dobby worked, Hermione adjusted their disguises. Neville and Ron went back to their normal appearances, with Ron's leather jacket making a return. This time the slash was held shut with a heavy zipper. Her sense of style, thought Gabrielle, was quite odd. Ginny's hair was shortened, which didn't suit her. Gabrielle's clothes were un-transfigured so that she wore Ron's oversized shirt again, and Ron tried to try his hand at changing her hair. Gabrielle was able to dodge that, fortunately, and begged Hermione for protection. Gabrielle ended up with hair the same shade of red as Ron's and very curly. She wondered if she would have been better served with Ron's attempt until he caught her off-guard and gave her freckles - a lot of freckles. This was found to be the height of hilarity by the others. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, they had forgotten that she had a wand. That would be to their woe!

Once her travelling companions had recovered from a second bout of laughing, brought about when Gabrielle quite reasonably demanded that she share Harry's cloak, Gabrielle had a measure of satisfaction when Ron altered Hermione's appearance. Gabrielle supposed it was a compliment of sorts that Ron not only kept his girlfriend's hair bushy and brown, but gave her a lot more of it. Her tangling tresses tumbled to her knees by the time he was done. It might have been a compliment as well when he deepened her neckline and raised the hem of her blouse until the two practically met. Certainly Hermione did not see it as a poetic ode to her beauty. She quickly undid the changes. Gabrielle wondered if the red on her cheeks was from anger or embarrassment. Only Neville was redder. While Hermione returned her shirt to a more modest style, Ron transfigured her denims into a very short skirt. That made it clear the colored cheeks were from anger, and a conjured flock of small, yellow, and very upset birds set upon Ron.

The hole Dobby had created in the side of the building opened into the narrow space made with the neighboring shop. They would be able to slip along it single-file, then past the edge of the crowd. Especially with a diversion, which would take the form of a Weasley Wildfire House-Breaker, provided from Harry's box and dropped from the roof by Dobby. Gabrielle and the others filed out of the narrow gap using the smoke from the huge explosion of colorful sparks as cover.

v - v - v - v - v

The car ride back to the Burrow could, in Gabrielle's mind, be best described as slipping down a giant funnel of despair. The normal mood they had on Diagon Alley was the rim, and the mood became grimmer and grimmer as they travelled the bottomless pit of angst at the Burrow. Not that the Weasley homestead was a pit, thought Gabrielle, or the source of the despair. It was just that as the miles passed more of what the day added up to sank in. Hermione took to worrying her lip as they drove. Ron started looking hunted and jumpy. Ginny was the same and Gabrielle suspected they were thinking ahead to Mrs. Weasley. Harry was silent. They were not only late for lunch but if they did not keep moving they would be late for dinner. The events at Eeylops could not be hidden, and it would not take much for Mrs. Weasley to connect their presence on Diagon Alley with that. And, of course, that horrible witch was killed. Harry looked the most grim of all - that was probably why.

Hermione turned on the wireless and fiddled with the buttons until a news program was found. It sounded like muggle news and Gabrielle wondered if it could not pick up any of the WWN programs. Hermione slapped away Ron's reaching hand. There were a series of depressing reports on the muggle football stadium attack that the auror Tonks had mentioned. Almost two dozen spectators had been killed, with scores wounded. The news reader said that the death toll would have been far higher if it had not been for the precautions put in place during the 'Troubles', whatever they were. The attack was blamed on a foreign terrorist group, which, although nothing was known of them, were surely provoked by the government's policies.

Gabrielle was not sure why Hermione thought they should be listening to this now. A little music, even British muggle music, would be more distracting. On the other hand, Harry looked somewhat bolstered by the reports. The next story about a fatal feral dog attack on a child outside of Weston-super-mare returned the grimness.

With no one doing much in the way of speaking, Gabrielle had nothing to distract her own thoughts. She couldn't help but feel that she would be blamed for all this. They had gone to Diagon Alley because of the trick with the dresses, and they had gone to Eeylops because of Pepi. Gabrielle was fairly sure people would see that she had not really been party to the wrecking of the shop, but dragging the others to the pub had been her idea. Someone would probably argue that what followed was a direct result of the firewhiskey. Plus, hadn't she stabbed that Bellatrix? Maman would take a very dim view of that. How, wondered Gabrielle, would she not lose her place at Beauxbatons now? She had nearly lost it over spilled gravy. Well, spilled gravy, breaking Harry's ribs, and cracking her own skull.

Gabrielle wished George would hug her. She was feeling lonely again, and gently toyed with her pets in the baggy sleeves of the borrowed shirt. It was probably too much to hope she could change before Maman or Fleur saw her.

v - v - v - v - v

No one spoke until the car had been turned onto the rutted dirt track that led to the Burrow. Harry requested a stop before they reached the clearing where the house was centered. He left the car, telling them to wait; he told Ginny that twice. Harry then went into the woods. Hermione and Ginny both turned and looked intently at Ron, who shrugged his shoulders and exited the car to follow Harry.

"Eh, where are zey going?" asked Gabrielle, not really expecting an answer.

"I think I know," said Hermione softly.

"Yeah, I think you're right," nodded Ginny. And that, thought Gabrielle, is that. Why did I bother to ask?

The two boys returned in less than a quarter hour, evidently finished with whatever Harry had to do. He announced that no one was to say anything about the events of the day. Harry said the Order would be told everything except the nature of the locket, but only after Fleur's wedding was over. Everyone made assenting noises, so Gabrielle did too. It wasn't like she wanted to think about Ginny slumped over beside her, stunned, or Hermione's helplessness as that Bellatrix went to kill her. Gabrielle would, all in all, rather forget about the curse the witch launched at her with murder in her eyes. The same eyes that had stared unseeing at Gabrielle from the ground in the alleyway. No, thought Gabrielle, best to try to keep it all secret and tucked away. Perhaps, postulated Gabrielle, she could ask Harry to wait until she had returned to France.

That was easy to think; that she would be able to keep it out of her head. It was much harder to do when they reached the Burrow and Gabrielle found her parents sitting with an agitated Mrs. Weasley, who Gabrielle thought looked like she would explode beneath her polite countenance.

Gabrielle's father stood abruptly and threw open his arms. He was a heavy man with good hair and he wore forest green robes. "Mon petite ange!" he called to Gabrielle excitedly.

"Papa!" squealed Gabrielle, running to him. Her father clasped her to his thick middle, and she hugged him as hard as she could. The relief that they were present and that she was somehow safer flowed into Gabrielle, along with the thoughts of why she needed to feel secure. Gabrielle began to cry. She was not bawling or sobbing; the tears just started flowing.

"(There, there, my little one,)" soothed Gabrielle's father.

"(Gracious child. Whatever is wrong?)" asked Gabrielle's mother in surprise and concern.

"(Nothing,)" sniffed Gabrielle. Her face was buried in her father's robes as she tried to calm herself. Gabrielle did not know where the tears had come from and started to feel a little annoyed. I should be stronger than this, thought Gabrielle. She could practically feel Ginny's eyes boring into her as well.

Her mother stroked the top of her head, finding and gently exploring the lump from the alleyway. Gabrielle winced but her Maman's fingers moved on. "(Nothing? This is quite a lot for - nothing.)"

Gabrielle pulled away from her father's chest to wipe her eyes. Mrs. Weasley was looking at her also and wringing her hands. Harry, Ron and Hermione used her distraction to slip away. "(I, eh, have missed you,)" Gabrielle said with a quivering lip. That was at least partly true. Gabrielle was finding it hard to rein herself in. "(I did not, eh, realize how much, perhaps.)" She dried her eyes on her sleeve and sniffled loudly, which her mother frowned at.

Madame Delacour fiddled with the collar of the oversized shirt Gabrielle wore, and straightened it over her shoulders when Gabrielle released her father. "(It is of no consequence. You seemed to be doing so well here. A little homesickness is at least good for your father and I to see. We do not have to let you go just yet.)" Gabrielle wondered if her mother was talking about Beauxbatons. "(Tell me, Gabrielle, why are dressed like this, and what is in your sleeve?)"

"(I went to muggle London, to go to, eh, Diagon Alley. I, eh, bought a toad,)" said Gabrielle, answering at least one of the questions. Ginny, apparently satisfied that Gabrielle was not going to breakdown and reveal their secrets, tried to slip out. Mrs. Weasley snatched the back of her shirt by the collar.

"Do excuse me, Apolline, dear. I need to speak to Ginny in the kitchen," said Mrs. Weasley. They left the sitting room entirely once Ginny's hands had been wrenched from the door jamb.

"(That has the cut of a boy's shirt,)" declared Gabrielle's father suspiciously. Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"(Why did you not wear your own clothes? I believe Fleur packed some appropriate clothing for you?)" asked her mother. That raised Gabrielle's hackles. Maman had known. She had known and let Fleur do it anyway.

"(Fleur says I have grown out of them,)" replied Gabrielle. It was not what really happened, of course, but it was close enough to Fleur's point of view. "(Mrs. Weasley tried to fix it, but then -)" Gabrielle stopped. She thought: but then a homicidal maniac tried to slash me in two, which ruined the outfit I just bought. No, realized Gabrielle, that would not be a very good explanation to use.

Madame Delacour sighed, shaking her head and silvery hair slightly. "(I see. But why, Gabrielle, did you not see if there was something you could have borrowed from Mrs. Weasley's daughter?)"

Gabrielle was about to launch into her complaints against Fleur when there was an eruption from the kitchen.

"Mother! You just don't understand anything!" Ginny's voice reverberated like thunder. The door to the eating area splintered, and Ginny stomped up the stairs. Gabrielle winced, but suddenly saw her chance.

"(Eh, yes. I will go, eh, to change,)" said Gabrielle. She made to leave, but the doorway was filled with Mrs. Weasley, who looked very cross.

"I do apologize, Apolline, for that," said Mrs. Weasley, composing her face.

"Eet eez nozzing, Molly. Daw-tairs can be, 'ow you say, dramatique," smiled Madame Delacour. She gestured in Gabrielle's direction. Gabrielle gasped her affront. As if I am the one, thought Gabrielle, who complains about absolutely everyone and everything. "Please, may I ask ze fav-air? Gabrielle eez in need of a prop-air blouse."

"What? Oh, er, yes. Not a problem. I, erm, just put some things away that might fit her." Behind Mrs. Weasley, house-elves began collecting pieces of the door.

v - v - v - v - v

As happy and as oddly relieved as Gabrielle was to have her family at the Burrow, she was just as happy and relieved to finally slip away again. Maman was acting very strangely, in Gabrielle's opinion. She was raining compliments on a smiling but sheepish Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle knew for a fact that Maman loathed wool - she would say that there was no reason to wear the hair from such a common beast when there was silk. Yet Maman professed high regard for the jumpers Mrs. Weasley had knitted from the wretched yarn. That worked to Gabrielle's advantage at least, since George's old jumper was returned to her. The 'G', Gabrielle pointed out, was for Gabrielle. Papa was acting strangely as well, thought Gabrielle, but that was not as uncommon for him if boys were mentioned. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice.

The real problem for Gabrielle was that it was getting hard to avoid questions about how the day had been spent. Mrs. Weasley had asked about the dress-fitting. Gabrielle knew if she answered that it had gone fine then that would invite a question about why they had been away so long. Gabrielle definitely did not want to try and explain Eeylops and Pepi-Z; she regretted mentioning the toad as Maman would surely bring it up again. The answer was to do as Fleur would do: complain. Gabrielle couldn't bring herself to criticize Madame Malkin, though, because Mrs. Weasley liked the squat witch. So she complained at length about the fake bosom she was to wear, although she would not go without it. The additions made her look so much older. Her complaints did resonate with Papa. He began to rant about the norms and mores of society these days, and the corrosive nature of fashion. Maman suggested, with a brittle smile, that perhaps a short break for tea would be nice. Gabrielle was left alone to change and sort through Ginny's cast-offs.

Gabrielle carried the returned clothes back up to the room she shared with Ginny. She paused at the door. The hallway here had a distinctly sharp smell, like after a lightning strike. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, it would be best to let Ginny calm down some more. The black undergarment from George was ruined - what if Ginny accidently cursed her? Then again, where else was she to go?

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle eventually worked up the courage to enter Ginny's room, where she found the older girl cursing small paper butterflies , that she had enchanted to fly, out of the air. It was very disconcerting, so Gabrielle did not say anything to Ginny for a long while. Harry's owl Hedwig landed on the window sill and looked speculatively at the remaining faux butterflies fluttering weakly. Perhaps this was the source of the paper for the winged victims that lay scorched on the floor, thought Gabrielle.

Hedwig made several appearances as the bird shuffled messages between Harry and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They had decided to use muggle traffic and the parking in London as the excuse for being so late. An overturned lorry near London and a separate three car pile-up were key elements in the deception, so Gabrielle had to practice the fictional details with Ginny. Gabrielle planned, having missed lunch, to keep her mouth full to avoid talking.

By the time the call for dinner had come, Gabrielle had gotten a little cold and had changed into the old pair of Ginny's denims instead of wearing the skirt from the school uniform. She chose the jumper with the 'G', confident Maman could say nothing about it as she had gushed over it earlier. Her little wand went into her travelling chest. It made her feel somewhat sad, but she couldn't risk her parents finding it. Gabrielle decided to leave her pets in the room also. They would attract comment and questions. The knife from Gaston would come with her.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle seemed to be the last one to the table, unless some of the aurors were going to show up. She was somewhat chagrined at this. Ginny had left first to meet up with Harry. Gabrielle wanted to remind her not to get carried away with him, but the piles of ash on the floor made her reconsider. Gabrielle would have gotten to the table before them except that her pets did not want to be left behind. The problem was the toad, whom she had named Poisseux for his spellotape body. He - or she, although being made of tape 'it' was probably more accurate - was a lot more mobile than Pepi-Z, as Poisseux had legs. While the reincarnated puffskein was easily  
corralled by a wall of sheets and clothing, Poisseux was able to climb out and stiffly hop after her. Gabrielle had gathered the translucent toad back up and built a higher barrier. She had not made it back to the door when she heard the quiet tick of the toad's rigid tape body hitting the floor. Gabrielle was then completely surprised at what  
happened next: Poisseux spit out the red bobble that was Pepi-Z, and they rolled and hopped toward her. When the two had reached her, the toad then snatched up the puffskein in its mouth and started to climb her shoe. Gabrielle decided that she had no choice but to stash them in her sleeve again, at least until she got some proper enclosures.

There were several open seats around the dinner table, but Gabrielle had no trouble deciding which one to sit at. Her Maman pointed to the one between herself and Papa. Rather sharply, as far as pointing went. There was a seat open next to George. He knew and she knew that Fred would not be at dinner tonight. The fact that the seat was open cheered Gabrielle somewhat, since he had ignored her earlier, and she smiled toward George and gave a little wave. George winked back at her.

Oops, thought Gabrielle, Papa had noticed. Now he had to split his suspicious looks through narrowed eyes between Bill and George. Gabrielle noticed that while Ron and Hermione were sitting together, Ginny was also surrounded by her parents. Ron still wore the leather jacket.

"Molly, ze din-nair eez exquisite," praised Gabrielle's mother.

"Oh, I can't take credit for that. The house-elves, well, once they get started it's hard to stop them," returned Mrs. Weasley. The table was packed with dishes, noted Gabrielle, but what they held was very unusual. Not unusual as in dragon-tail stew, but unusual in the sense that each plate held a miniature version of an entire meal. There were tiny beef roasts surrounded by even tinier vegetables and potatoes, or small roasted birds, stuffed with what might be figs. Gabrielle pulled a plate closer to examine it.

"(Don't play with your food, dear,)" reminded her Maman. As if, thought Gabrielle. "I did not know zat you 'ad ze 'ouse-elves, Molly."

"We don't, but the poor things don't have much to do at Hogwarts during the summer months. They looked so sad, I couldn't say no," replied Mrs. Weasley. She looked over at Mr. Weasley, who was gazing at Madame Delacour with glazed eyes. There was a dull thud from beneath the table, and Mr. Weasley barely stifled a groan. Now Papa had to eye him as well, Gabrielle noticed. Papa was so silly at times. She had a thought.

"'Ow I wish I 'ad zat problem," said Madame Delacour with a little laugh.

"Zank you, Ron, for lending me your shirt," said Gabrielle sweetly. Ha, grinned Gabrielle. Papa's head was practically spinning. She kept the smirk on her face from showing by digging into a tiny but perfectly cooked roast.

"(Henri, darling, you are making yourself a spectacle,)" whispered Madame Delacour across Gabrielle.

Fleur and Bill monopolized the conversation after that by describing their new house. It was not hard for them to do so, as both Papa and Mr. Weasley were not in a talking mood. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were clearly going to say as little as they could also. George did not have Fred to talk to, and Gabrielle felt that she had already said too much. Anyway, she was really hungry.

It was a dinner more like the ones at Delacour Manor than a real Burrow dinner. At least it was up until Gabrielle thought the tres petite potatoes could use a bit more salt. She picked up the salt shaker near her plate and shook a little onto her helping. Then she shook out some more salt, this time onto her meat. That was not by her own volition, and Gabrielle had the sinking feeling that George had worked out where she was going to have to sit. Soon her plate was covered in salt and her arm was shaking erratically. Salt poured from the shaker by the spoonful, then, after Papa's Finite, by the bowlful. Fleur's disarming spell, done with a knowing smile on her lips, made it flow by the shovelful. Gabrielle had pushed herself away from the table, and stood nearly waist deep in the growing mound. It was stupid. It was stupid; it was embarrassing; and it was at the very heart of why Gabrielle liked being at the Weasley's. Gabrielle found herself giggling and smiling even as she was trapped in her own  
avalanche.

Reactions around the table ranged from the horrified embarrassment of the elder Weasleys, to the angry outrage of both Bill and Papa, to the stifled laughing of Ron and Harry. George was roaring his approval. Fleur, composing herself, and Maman wore similar faces of pained suffering.

"It's Shaker Salt - only seven sickles!" announced George proudly. "Works with any shaker, completely edible. Er, the salt, of course, not the shaker."

"And when will it stop?" growled Mrs. Weasley.

"Excellent question," replied George. "Right to the heart of the matter, really."

"(You see how it is with her? She brings it on herself. I would be mortified by this,)" whispered Fleur.

"What is the counter you blasted troll?" demanded a standing Bill.

"(I shall use The King's Flail on the whoreson once you are safe!)" hissed Gabrielle's father as he began to push aside the pile of salt. He raised his wand again.

"(No! You will make it worse, only,)" called Hermione. A flash of surprise lit Fleur's face; she regarded Hermione with suspicion. "Ron, help her."

"Wot? Me? How?"

"Dig her out, of course," ordered Gabrielle's coven sister. Ron got up and dragged Harry with him over to the growing pile of seasoning. They began shifting the white granules until Gabrielle's arm, still wildly shaking the salt shaker, cracked Ron on the head with it. Harry, who could not refrain from laughing at his best friend's plight, was shoved into the pile by his quidditch teammate's foot. Ron seized the salt shaker from Gabrielle's hand. Her arm, feeling very rubbery now, stopped flailing at last. Ron threw the salt shaker at George, aiming for his head. It turned into a white dove with a sweep of the older brother's wand, and the bird fluttered its way to Gabrielle's shoulder. Gabrielle smiled proudly at George's magical prowess, although the brightness of her smile was tempered by the fact that the sharp grains of salt had infiltrated her clothes.

"Well done, Ron," praised Hermione, saluting with her fork.

"You all right, Harry?" asked Ginny. Gabrielle cleared her throat meaningfully, but was ignored.

"I've salt in my eye because of a stupid git," complained Harry.

"Serves you bloody right for laughing while I do all the work!" snapped Ron.

"Eh, I am still stuck," reported Gabrielle. And chafing, she added in her head.

"Harry, dear, let me," said Mrs. Weasley bending down with her wand.

"Oy Mum! What about me?" whined Ron.

"All right, luv. Let's have you out of there," said George cheerfully as he rounded the table.

"Keep away from 'er, Englishman," warned Gabrielle's father, turning to defend her. Not, Gabrielle noticed, coming to pull her out. Every move she made resulted in more salt trickling into her shoes and denims.

"(Papa! Don't be so rude. Eh, it was just a silly joke,)" warned Gabrielle.

"(A silly joke which is funny and very profitable, a lot,)" added George in his awkward French. He did not try to move past her father though.

"(Oh yes, the infamous Weasley Wizarding Wheezes crap that is the cause of so much hysteria. They are already banned - the decree takes effect in time for the scholastic year,)" grinned Gabrielle's father with a surprising bit of malice.

"Er, yes, uh... edict, is it?" struggled George.

Gabrielle could not believe how her father was going out of his way to provoke and insult George. Her arm that had used the shaker felt numb, but she figured she could use it regally at least once. "Ron. Dig me out, s'il vous plait."

"Only one here liter'lly - lit-er-'lly! - starvin' an' I've got to do everything," muttered Ron. He pulled Gabrielle onto his shoulder and levered her out.

"You could have used ze wand," complained Gabrielle. "You are a wizard, no?" She reached into her denims and brought out a handful of salt before seeing her mother's disapproving stare. Well, thought Gabrielle, she would think differently if she had salt in her clothes.

"All right, fine," huffed Ron, pulling out his wand. From his back pocket, noticed Gabrielle. Perhaps Monsieur Moody should know this. Ron reached toward her waistband.

"That'll do, Ron," said Mr. Weasley abruptly. "I think it best, yes, to leave it to the witches now."

Gabrielle didn't see an advantage in that. Ginny was laughing at something, or someone, with Harry, Hermione was putting the parts of the roasted hen she didn't want on Ron's plate, and the last person she wanted help from was Fleur. Surely this would be added to the 'List'. The only other witches were Maman and Mrs. Weasley, neither of whom were very pleased looking.

"Eh, I will go, eh, and change," said Gabrielle. She started to waddle toward the door.

Mrs. Weasley and her Maman would have none of that, and pulled Gabrielle into the kitchen proper. There they completely lost their senses, in Gabrielle's opinion, apologizing to each other over and over. Mrs. Weasley had any number of people she could apologize for, but concentrated on George and even Fred, who was not even present. It was not fair, in Gabrielle's mind. George was a wonderful wizard. And Fred was too. Maman asked forgiveness only for Gabrielle and Papa. While the two matrons assured each other no disrespect had been intended either way, they fussed over Gabrielle's denims, which she had had to remove, and her underwear, which she had also been made to remove. This was totally humiliating to Gabrielle. She was not some toddler needing a nappy, she was practically a woman. Did they not, wondered Gabrielle as she tried to stretch the jumper lower, see the old house-elf still sitting atop the icebox?

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was feeling rather peeved by the time she returned to the table. Maman and Mrs. Weasley had gone ahead, commiserating with each other about having to deal with daughters and sons. Gabrielle took longer because she wanted to dress in the narrow gap on the far side of the stove. It was not easy, and it was only after banging her elbows while pulling up the denims that Gabrielle realized she should have just ordered the elf away. She was peeved, and just a little rebellious, from being treated like a child. So, she plopped herself down in the seat next to George, and took a new plate. Ah, Gabrielle noted with satisfaction, looking surreptitiously around the table,  
that got a reaction. One, noted a second thought, that she would probably pay for later on.

George scanned the onlookers shrewdly and said quietly, "Hullo luv. Or maybe you'd fancy something a bit more flash?" He seized her hand and bowed over it, planting a kiss on the back of her pale hand. "En-shan-tay, mon cherry," said George formally and loudly enough to be heard.

Gabrielle felt her face heat up at the unexpected contact. Maman and Bill were looking at her with curiosity. Papa, Fleur, and Mrs. Weasley were staring daggers at her. Or perhaps, especially Papa, at George. Gabrielle tried to act as if it was something normal. She was not as successful as she hoped. "Eh, oui... yes. Eh, I... I... Eh - How was your day?" she blurted finally.


	26. Preparations

Chapter Twenty-Six - Preparations

"Rather quiet down our end of the Alley. All the action, I'm given to understand, was at the other end," said George in response to Gabrielle's question. Oh no, cringed Gabrielle in horror. Any topic but that. "Still, business was all right. Pranks are down but the line of ShieldWear makes up for it. Bit of a run on Universal Unlockers, all three sizes, WildFire Door-Knockers, and scoritic acid in the afternoon."

Gabrielle glanced up and saw that her coven sisters had joined the ranks of the dagger-starers. There was no doubt the stares were meant for her. She had to do something, say something, quickly.

George, while still chewing Gabrielle noticed, something that would have to end, continued, "Seems there was some funny business down by Eey -"

"What did Fred wear on his, eh, date?" interrupted Gabrielle hurriedly. That was too close. It was good that she had eaten some before; now her stomach was clenching.

George looked at Gabrielle and a sly grin played across his face. He knows, thought Gabrielle. She was doomed.

"Fred has a date?" asked Ginny jumping in. "The poor girl."

"Don't see what you're getting at there," said George. "Well known who got all the looks and brains in this family."

"Yes. 'E eez sitting next to me," said Fleur proudly, gripping Bill's arm. Oh please, thought Gabrielle. That's so lame.

"Cor, that's some glamour there Fred," joked George. "Wait - does that mean Bill is out with that bird?"

"If 'e eez I will cut -" started Gabrielle's father.

"Papa! Don't be stupid. Zis is William. 'Is brozzer could not fool me," scolded Fleur.

"So who is Fred out with, then?" asked Ginny.

"Who, indeed," repeated George. "There's too many to keep track of." Mrs. Weasley huffed at that.

"That's not what I hear," said Bill. "I hear that -"

"She'll be a blond, I'm sure of it," interrupted George. "I'll admit the Weasley brothers have a thing for blonds." Gabrielle nearly choked on a tiny carrot.

"Not me," piped Ron. "Too flighty by half." Half the witches in the room were blond, and the atmosphere cooled noticeably. Ron did not seem to notice. Hermione swept her hair from her shoulders unnecessarily.

"Did Fred, eh, wear ze robes?" asked Gabrielle to refocus the conversation.

"Possibly. I know he had to change as he had caught fire," replied George to Gabrielle. "Since he was wearing dragon-hide at the time that took some doing. Rather interested in dear old Fred's sartorial strategem, aren't you?"

"Eh... what?"

"Perhaps Beebee is trying to give you a hint," suggested Hermione. It was Gabrielle's turn to glare.

"Wot? Should I have dressed in heavy leather like the 80's throwback over there, luv?" asked George, nudging Gabrielle.

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Gabrielle quickly. Hermione's expression darkened. "You are, eh, handsome, very much, like zis. It makes your..." Gabrielle trailed off as she noticed Papa's mouth hanging open and Maman's bemused smile. "Eh, zat is, eh..." Gabrielle knew she was starting to blush. More food, she thought, to keep my stupid mouth busy. She hoped Papa would not say anything to further her embarrassment.

Papa cleared his throat and Gabrielle steeled herself. "(I think, young lady, you should return to your seat,)" advised her father. Gabrielle looked at him in surprise, her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. That was really quite reasonable, and quite the relief. Fleur dramatically shielded her face to block Gabrielle from her sight, and leaned over to whisper to Bill.

"Zis is so cute. Molly, eet eez 'er first, 'ow you say, oh yes, crush," gushed Maman. Papa choked, Fleur led a round of giggles from the table, some uncomfortable, and Gabrielle slumped down in her seat, her eyes prickling. At least George was not really laughing too much. If Maman was not here, thought Gabrielle, I could stab him again.

There was a muffled chirping noise. George reached into a pocket and brought forth a large, metal beetle which was making the sound. He slid the wing casings open and looked at it. "Time flies, or, in this case, scuttles about," announced George. He stood up.

"Oh, are you leaving?" asked Mrs. Weasley with disappointment.

"Fred and I can't rest on our rather substantial laurels forever. There's some mischief to be managed," declared George. He looked down at Gabrielle with a crooked smile. She looked up at the ex-beater; she had not been able to swallow the wads in her cheeks yet. "I'll, er, take a rain-check on the good luck kiss then, shall I?" Gabrielle barely nodded. Was he serious?

"I zink, pair-haps, not," declared Papa curtly.

v - v - v - v - v

In the ornate Malfoy Manor library a warm fire danced in the hearth. It was unneeded for the room, which was still quite warm from the day of summer sun, but was there for the erstwhile Dark Lord and his cold-blooded container. The snake sat coiled before the hearth , its head reared up and staring at a sallow-faced man in black robes. The robes had more than a hint of sheen from wear. The man, Severus Snape, in turn, was staring at a much older man dressed in purple robes, gaudily trimmed with ruffles.

"You realize for this to work there can be no quid pro quo. You are promised nothing," said Snape tersely.

"Yes, yes. Of course, of course," agreed Ogden Dickinbottom, the ruffles on his sleeve exaggerating the wave of his hand. He winked and nodded, "Loyalty and service, right? That's what our lord rewards."

Oh yes, thought Snape. Am I not covered in galleons? "Our lord, of course, does as he pleases. Certainly those traits are highly prized."

"Having a vested, shall we say, interest in the upkeep of a body, sharing the varied pleasures and indulgences - its own reward right there," said the elderly Ogden.

"As you say," nodded Severus noncommittally. The great snake Nagini slithered up and over the low table on which the bowl of tonic had been placed. The serpent draped itself across the back of the chair which the older wizard tensed in, and brought its wide head and flicking tongue close to Ogden's face.

"Keen, is he?" asked Ogden, beginning to wheeze a little.

"To regain the... varied pleasures and indulgences.. of human form? Wouldn't you be?"

"Right," said the elder wizard. A note of hopefulness had crept into his voice. "What must be done?"

"You must copy a set of runes in your own blood; there is a potion to drink to lower the natural resistance. I will take care of the incantations," replied Snape. "Narcissa is preparing a room."

"A boudoir perhaps?" leered Ogden. "Any young virgins needed?"

"No."

"It's a well known fact that a deflowered virgin really dresses up a spell."

"I rather thought that the act of deflowering was the part you had trouble with," noted the former professor distastefully. "It would not do to make our lord wait in vain."

The old man sighed and nodded. "It is true. I do so miss the feel of - "

"There will be time afterwards, perhaps, for such things," concluded Snape. What things were desired he would prefer not to catalog. From his dark robes he pulled out a scroll and passed it to the other wizard. "These are the runes - copy them with the utmost care." Snape reached into his robes to offer the dagger, then remembered his  
earlier treachery.

"Ah, yes. Um, there are quite a lot of runes," worried Ogden.

"You need not make the lines very thick."

v - v - v - v - v

Once Dickinbottom retreated to his room, Snape looked on as Nagini slithered sluggishly back to the fire. The tonic was only marginally effective. It was the ancient ingredients to be found in Lucius' lab. It was a potions lab to impress, all glittering glassware and gilt instruments - not for real work. How old was the asphodel anyway? Snape found himself of two minds about going forward with the spell.

But then, thought Snape derisively, I have been of two minds about almost everything since that Halloween night so many years ago when Lily fell. One of the few things he had been sure of, hating the son of James Potter, was now beyond him. How the potion master wished for the Gryffindor to kick. Severus sighed, and considered the options. If the spell was performed and Nagini was too weak, then both Dickinbottom and the snake might die. That would not be a tragic loss, considered Severus, but if the Dark Lord truly could not die then he would find a way back and would not be pleased. Snape imagined being asked to fulfill Wormtail's role and shuddered. To delay the spell, to consider the other possible course, would also anger the Dark Lord, and offer an opportunity to vent his rage sooner if it was successful.

Oh Merlin, groaned Severus to himself. The Dark Lord's wand was destroyed. He was - not - going to be the bearer of that bad news. That fool Amycus would do it. Severus was very sure he could be made to do it - worth the Unforgiveable if it came to that. Perhaps, considered Snape, teaching another the required incantation and ritual would be the smartest move. Yes, a young comer looking to curry favor, to displace someone in the inner circle. But that was folly and Snape knew it. The only one he could trust that had any talent at all was Draco, and Snape would not - could not - risk him. Although, it might put the boy back into the Dark Lord's good graces... No, resolved Severus, the further Draco was from the center, the better. Perhaps Bellatrix -

Oh, yes. He had forgotten Bellatrix. Snape knew he would have to make an effort to determine what had happened to her. This was both for Narcissa's sake and to decide whether to abandon Malfoy Manor for somewhere less subject to scrutiny by the Ministry. Snape massaged his temples. It was hard to judge how his lord would take word that Bellatrix had been captured. She was powerful and fanatically loyal, just not... stable. In truth, Snape would deem her barely more an asset than a liability, but he was not the Dark Lord she worshipped.

Severus came to a decision. The spell would be done when all was prepared. News about Bellatrix could wait to be discovered. If they had to move operations, it was better done without the ill-tempered serpent and with the Dark Lord's advice and consent. Snape would send word that the Death Eaters were not to come to the Manor unless summoned. The activities of the Chairman seemed more important in any case.

v - v - v - v - v

George returned within an hour, sweaty, covered in dust, and grinning like he had gone mad. Gabrielle figured that whatever George and Fred had set out to do had gone well. Or it had not, and they had gone to the Mended Wand again. Gabrielle could not smell anything but dust - a dust that made Gabrielle think of caves, ancient fissures, and gold - and, well, a basic George-ness. Of course, sighed Gabrielle, it was hard to get close to him because of Papa. He was, in no subtle fashion, staying between her and George.

Thinking of the Mended Wand and firewhiskey reminded Gabrielle of both, and she thought to distract her father with the gift from Monsieur O'Beirne. Gabrielle excused herself and went up to Ginny's room. She found the door locked, which she took to mean that Harry was in the room again. Ginny, thought Gabrielle, is going to get in so much trouble. Gabrielle knocked politely, then a bit less politely. There was scrambling from the other side of the door; the sounds of evidence being hidden. Gabrielle looked at the doorknob, and wondered if she could get it open with just her knife. But surely Harry would have sealed it magically also.

The door opened and, surprisingly, it was Hermione who opened it. Surprise gave way to suspicion. If Hermione was here, thought Gabrielle, did that mean Ron was here also? Were they... being incorrigible again on her bed? That was really too much, and not the least bit hygienic. Gabrielle swept past Hermione, prepared to rage.

Except that neither Ron nor Harry was in the room. The shock must have shown on her face as Ginny asked, "You all right, Effy?"

"Eh, I zought... eh, why was ze door locked?"

"You're as bad as Mum now, " snorted Ginny. "Did she send you up to check on us?"

"Non. Zee door was locked and I, eh, zought zat -"

"I know what you thought. You spend a lot of time thinking like that. Not as innocent as you act, are you?" accused Ginny.

"Eh, what? I am not, eh..." Gabrielle paused. This was not right. Ginny was baiting her, which, Gabrielle suspected, meant that they had been doing something they were not supposed to be doing. "What are you hiding? I heard ze, eh, noises."

"Oh, stop it you two," chastised Hermione. "We were just, erm... just -"

"We were looking through your Gran's book for new things to try," declared Ginny.

"We were not! Well, I mean, we were, but not like, er, what you might think, per se, you see," insisted Hermione.

"Oh. Right, right. Did you want to share your notes?" teased Ginny.

"You are such a hag, Ginny," complained Hermione. She self-consciously folded and tucked a sheet of parchment into a pocket, and decided to scowl at Ginny.

"I will, eh, get ze book back, yes?" asked Gabrielle.

"Sure, Effy. 'S not like you're going to be needing it any time soon, I hope. Right? No matter how much you cling to George," smirked Ginny.

"Your mozzer, she is locking you in, eh, again? Is zat why you are like zis?" Ginny only glowered in response, which Gabrielle took as an affirmative. But, decided Gabrielle, that can not be my fault.

"What did you want, Beebee?" asked Hermione, jumping in before Ginny could wind up.

"Monsieur O'Beirne gave me ze firewhiskey for Papa," explained Gabrielle. "I will, eh, give it to him now. Perhaps his, eh, eh, he will present himself better."

"Letting him lock up the Weasley males in the kitchen would probably work better," suggested Hermione. Gabrielle rummaged out the box from George that she kept things in. She pulled out things until she reached the bottle. This might not be a good idea, thought Gabrielle suddenly. It was obvious the bottle had been partially drunk, and that would take some explaining. That explaining would lead to questions that would require even more explanations until all the secrets came out. Gabrielle had an idea.

"Eh, I will say zat, eh, you, eh, drank zis, Ginny," said Gabrielle.

"What?!"

"You are, eh, in trouble, now, wizz your mozzer. Zat way -"

"You bloody will not!" thundered Ginny.

"I think it's a clever plan," encouraged Hermione with a grin.

"No, it's not. If it is, why can't you have drunk it then?" demanded Ginny.

"Who would believe zat?" asked Gabrielle, returning a smirk.

Ginny crossed her arms in front of her. "I see. If that's the way you want to fly the pitch, then I think I'll tell Mum about you sneaking up to Ron's room," she said to Hermione.

Hermione's smile broadened. "She already knows. We're revising potions. Your Mum's all for it." Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ginny.

Ginny opened her mouth, getting red, then shut it. She opened it again, then shut it again.

Gabrielle spotted the gift from Monsieur Lunky at the bottom of the box. She had completely forgotten it. She pulled it out, wondering what it could possibly be, and wondering if she would ever be able to show it to Maman and Papa. George's magic box disappeared in a puff of smoke, to Gabrielle's horror. She had forgotten that would happen. "Merde! Oh, eh, pardon-moi."

"What is that, Beebee?" asked Hermione brightly, ignoring the sputtering Ginny. "Oh, these are very pretty." She picked up the dragon-hide gloves. "Is this Chinese Fireball? The scales are so small. Er, are these supposed to be snakes?"

"I zink zey are, eh, whips," replied Gabrielle. She pulled the wrapping off the gift. "Ze 'G' is for Gabrielle, but you should know zis."

"Whips, did you say? That's, erm, that's... Did you get them in Paris?"

"No," answered Gabrielle absently as she opened the box. "I got zem on Knock-" Her second thoughts jumped in at this point. Some things were still secret.

Or not. "Knockturn Alley?" blurted Ginny. "When were you on Knockturn Alley? Why were you on Knockturn Alley?"

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. She was distracted. The box held a coil of scarlet leather and something with straps and buckles. She lifted the bit of leather with the straps up. "What is zis?"

"It looks like one of those Victorian-era things, to hold up stockings, perhaps," offered Hermione. "In dragon leather, no less."

"Zis is true? Ze, eh, buckles - zey would show under ze clothes." Not very practical in Gabrielle's opinion. But then, Monsieur Lunky's shop was full of impractical undergarments.

"I, erm, think the intention is to, uh, wear this when you, um, didn't plan to wear something over it," explained a pink-faced Hermione. Gabrielle looked dubious. Why, wondered Gabrielle, would you bother to wear stockings if you weren't going to wear something with them?

"That's from George?" asked Ginny shrilly, horrified.

"Non. It is from Monsieur Lunky." Gabrielle lifted out the coil of leather, which turned out to be a short whip. I have missed something, thought Gabrielle.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle promised her coven sisters that she would explain about Monsieur Lunky, but later. Ginny wanted to know why George had bought her Chinese Fireball dragon-hide gloves, and was only slightly mollified to learn that it had been Monsieur Lunky's doing. Both girls ordered her to stay away from the leather-worker. That wasn't hard to do, but Gabrielle thought it was a bit of an over-reaction. He had seemed nice enough, just somewhat eccentric - perhaps because he was royalty, sort of.

Papa received the gift enthusiastically, as he always did when Gabrielle gave him something. Maman was less enthusiastic, but was glad for something to break the tension. Mrs. Weasley asked a question which pointed out a flaw in Gabrielle's plan. She had no answer for how she had gotten a hold of a bottle of firewhiskey.

That was a disaster postponed by George proposing a round of toasts. Gabrielle had not even to use Ginny as an excuse, which was both fortunate and somewhat unsatisfying. Monsieur O'Beirne's son-in-law's firewhiskey was pronounced excellent, but the little bottle was quickly exhausted. That mattered not as Mr. Weasley summoned a dusty bottle to him. He wiped it clean and presented it silently to Papa, who exclaimed in delight. Gabrielle could see her Maman's lips tighten.

"Could I offer you a glass of sherry, Apolline, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "I could do with one myself."

Gabrielle followed her mother, sister, and Mrs. Weasley from the sitting room to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley fetched a bottle and glasses. Gabrielle received a glass of milk instead of the honey-colored sherry, and tried not to look disappointed. It was not as if she was allowed anything more than a half glass of wine at Sunday dinners at Delacour Manor, it was that her drink was so very different. The tall, upright glass with its opaque white contents, almost mockingly prim, contrasted just too much with the translucent liquid swirling in the decadent goblets of the others. Why, wondered Gabrielle, could it not have been pumpkin juice, at the least? Or cider, yes, in a goblet of her own? That would have been nearly the same and she would not be feeling so much the spoon among the ladles.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle slipped from the kitchen back into the entry hall. Maman and Mrs. Weasley had started the apology thing again then, after a second sherry, began exchanging compliments on their husbands until both women were beginning to eye each other warily. Fleur jumped in at that point claiming that Bill had the best qualities of either man. Gabrielle was tempted to say something about George, but a bit of herself that was tired of being smirked at stopped her. Instead, Gabrielle decided to see what was happening in the sitting room, from which loud laughter could be heard.

The door to the sitting room was open, which was fortunate since a bottle of dark amber was making its way down the stairs to Bill's out-stretched arm. George was doubled over from laughing and Mr. Weasley was wiping his eyes. Gabrielle could see her father mimicking the odd, timid Monsieur Tatillonne, who worked in the same department. Gabrielle wondered if she should close the door. Maman disapproved of Papa's pantomime. Papa was speaking only French, which Gabrielle did not think Mr. Weasley could understand, although one could never be sure around here, but Mr. Weasley must have recognized something. He held up his hand to stop her father, then he began a variation of Gabrielle's father's miming that had her father howling, "Oui! Oui!"

Gabrielle decided that perhaps her presence would be a distraction now that Papa was getting along so well with the Weasley men. He might even, hoped Gabrielle, see how nice George was so that.. so that... Well, thought Gabrielle, just so that. She went back to the stairs and sat down. Gabrielle felt out of place, like she didn't quite fit anywhere, and was bored. She didn't want to sit at the table and listen to Fleur prattle, and she did not feel like teasing or being teased by Ginny. That left her all alone with nothing to do. Nothing except, thought Gabrielle brightening, to see what Harry and Ron were doing. They might be talking about their girlfriends, which would definitely be worth something.

Upstairs, Gabrielle could not hear anything through Harry's door. Sprawled out in the hallway she could see anything the gap at the bottom of the door either. That meant, considered Gabrielle, that they had done a good job with privacy spells or they were not in there. Since Gabrielle thought of Ron as a better shield than wizard and since Harry always left it to Hermione to seal doors, she decided that the boys were in Ron's room. The door was locked when she tried it. Gabrielle thought about this. She thought about the locked room, not that she had tried the lock in the first place. If she had Harry's cloak it would be less likely that she would get caught at eavesdropping. That might not be true, though, reminded a second thought, recalling the other times she had worn it. Anyway, Gabrielle thought, the specially bent wires were hidden back in her trunk. What would Philippe do?

He would not, admitted a chagrined Gabrielle, have jammed the corkscrew on her knife into the lock. The old lock. The old, rusty lock. The old, rusty, stupid, stupid lock, which had pieces that would snap off if one were stupid, stupid, stupid enough to attack it with a corkscrew. The door was still locked, but now a piece of the mechanism was lodged in the keyhole. How, exactly, was that, wondered Gabrielle, the result of innocent activity? She would have to tell Ginny and beg her to fix it with Harry.

Unless, of course, hoped Gabrielle, the little piece could be moved out of the way. The door would still be locked and the key still wouldn't work, but it would not be so obviously someone's - her - fault. She switched from the corkscrew to the stubby metal tab and tried to lever the sticking bit out of sight. After all, Harry could easily open the door and fix the lock with his wand. She only needed to make it non-obvious as to how the lock had broken. Harry may not even wonder what happened if Ginny was hanging on him. Hope soared - then crashed as the malevolent little lock gave out a smug click and released.

Ordinarily Gabrielle would have had a moment of exhilaration at being able to open the lock. It was not easy even with Philippe's coaching, let alone when she tried it on her own. But this, grimaced Gabrielle, was the worst thing. Having broken the lock was bad enough, but it could have been just a mysterious happening, like some magic gone astray or something, if it had stayed locked. Now it was open, which could only mean that someone had intended to get in. Ginny, frowned Gabrielle, would get her chance at retribution. Gabrielle would have to grovel; it occurred to her that she probably had dropped the handkerchief once too often.

On the other hand, suggested a second thought, if Harry were to say something interesting about Ginny then Ginny might see it as an exchange. It was true, thought Gabrielle, that the older girl was a bit obsessive about Harry. Although, came another thought, one perhaps more cognizant of reality, this was compounding trouble on trouble and Papa and especially Maman would see it first-hand.

v - v - v - v - v

Sneaking along the hall with her shoes off, Gabrielle crept toward Ron's bedroom door. She was glad she was under the invisibility cloak as she had had to do some rather unladylike rummaging in her jumper to retrieve Poisseux. The little faux toad had decided to take the walking tour of the jumper, and his spellotape toes tickled as he clambered across her.

Gabrielle found the bedroom door closed. Movement from inside made shadows in the light coming through under the door; Gabrielle knew they were inside. She also noted that there was absolutely no sound coming from inside. The door was spelled, probably by Harry, guessed Gabrielle. Which meant that she was going to get into a great deal of trouble with absolutely nothing to show for it. I am an idiot, thought Gabrielle. I should have checked Ron's door first.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry looked at the chessboard. It was a hopeless cause. Ron's bishop had sat there on the edge of the action for so long that Harry had been sure it was a key element of Ron's attack. And it had been - but only as a decoy. Harry's move to oust it had opened the door to Ron's strike, his marauding knight slashing the opposing pieces to tiny rubble piles. "Hey Ron, if Voldem - right, right - supposing You-Know-Who was a chess piece, right, the king, then would Bellatrix be the queen?"

"That's not going to save you, you know," replied Ron.

"I'm resigning anyway. It's taking longer and longer for the pieces to get themselves back together," admitted Harry.

"If you weren't so bleeding ignorant..." muttered the shattered remains of Harry's king-side bishop in an aggrieved, tinny voice.

"Quiet you," warned Ron. "We like to humor him." He grinned widely.

"You are an arse, Weasley." Harry flicked the little chess piece's head under the bed. "That'll keep you busy," said Harry to the bishop's cleaved torso.

"Anyway, You-Know-Who is more like the queen - strongest piece, right? Bellatrix would be more of a bishop or rook," said Ron. He added, "Your, er, run-of-the-mill Death Eater would be pawns, then."

"And Snape? Would he be a bish -"

"A knight," finished Ron.

"That seems unlikely."

"Yeah, not the shining armor type, you know?" said Ron with a snort. "More the skulkin' about, slipping in the back way, sort, with the last-minute twist, see?"

"Mmm. But, no king?" wondered Harry.

"Well... I suppose... I suppose... the horcrux stuff would be - His - king. They're gone and he loses, right?" said Ron. He shifted uneasily.

"Goff, that's lethal!" groaned Harry, sliding himself backward. "You swallow a dung bomb or something?"

"Phew. Eye waterin' innit? Probably those pasties. Lemme open a window," laughed Ron.

"So Voldy's the queen, the horcrux is the king, Snape is a knight, and Bellatrix was a bishop," recounted Harry. This wasn't helping much.

"I can't think that turning it into a chess game will be of much help to you, mate," said Ron cynically. He pointedly brushed the scattered shards of one of Harry's rooks into a pile.

"Yeah, yeah. I was trying to see if I could get a handle on how Voldemort, sorry, goes about things," explained Harry.

"Huh. You'd better hope it's not a chess match. You'd be the king, we've already lost our queen1, and, er, as a pawn, sacrificing pieces is right out," argued Ron. "It'd be a rough go."

"Yeah, rough." Like it could be any other way, thought Harry. The thought of it being decades came back to him, and he fell silent. He wondered if Ginny would be locked up in her room every night for that long.

"That bleeding potion is finally finished. Doesn't smell so bad by half, now," noted Ron.

"Couldn't really tell, after the last blast," said Harry, trying to reverse his mood.

"C'mon, the window's open," replied Ron. "Did ya figure out a way for him to drag the ferret's arse back?"

"I don't know, yeah, maybe," said Harry.

"Pretty much covers all the hoops, that," said Ron with a roll of his eyes.

"You could try helping a little more, you know," complained Harry. Why, he wondered, was he supposed to have all the answers? Was it just because Dumbledore was gone?

"I have! My room is a bloody potions lab," protested Ron, waving his arm at the small collection of bottles, flasks, and cauldrons. Harry could see they took up only a small part of the room. Ron's only real complaint, thought Harry, might be that the Cannons poster above the cauldrons was starting to curl and go green.

"I'm sure having to put up with Hermione with you in your room, alone, for hours at a time, is real torture. Shall I tell her?" suggested  
Harry.

"All right, there is that," admitted Ron looking pleased. "But it's not all fun, you know. She insists I really revise potions. Mind you, I don't - "

"If there is going to be a joke about stirring and your rod, you can stuff it now," said Harry sharply. Ron grinned fatuously. Harry was tempted to tell Ron what Ginny could do with her tongue, but knew that would go too far. "I want to try and work out what Voldemort - oh knock it off - wants."

"Easy enough there. He wants everything," replied Ron. "And you, er, you know, dead."

"Thanks for that, you tit. He wants to take over half the wizarding world, ruin the other half, and kill all the muggles."

"Well, that's the point of his game, right? Like saying I want to capture important pieces and checkmate your king in chess. It's not - how - he is going to go about it," complained Ron. The boys fell silent. There's no point to this, thought Harry. He was about to suggest trying the experiment when Ron continued, "Mind, I can't see him pulling it off the way things are right now. Not that there's anyone stopping him, 'course, but, I mean, folks'll know what to expect, right? He can't really fool people 'cause they know his strategy from the first time."

"Yeah, and?" prompted Harry. He didn't see where Ron was going with this.

"And, well, if you're going to support the Dark Lord then there's no way you can say you didn't know what he wanted. You'd have to say, 'I'm an evil bastard too.' Jerks like Malfoy aside, that does put people off. It should be harder to turn families."

"All right, so he can't be subtle," acknowledged Harry, although he wondered if standards were really that high in the wizarding world. Everyone was ready to believe the worst of him, for instance. "But he can scare the crap out of them."

"Yeah, but that won't make them useful," insisted Ron.

"He could just, you know, use the Imperius curse on them," argued Harry.

"True, but they would need to be told what to do. Like the Ministry - it'd all fall apart if the department heads waited for orders. Snake-face needs, er, lieutenants, sort of thing."

"Like Bellatrix?"

"Ones who aren't nutters would be favorite."

"I don't see Voldemort giving up though. If he can't get wizards to join because they know what he really intends, then..." Then what, thought Harry. Voldemort didn't seem like the type to stay in the background. He wasn't going to live forever just to keep a nice garden. He wanted people to bow to him. Him being, realized Harry, Lord Voldemort, not Tom Riddle. Riddle could create a new identity just as easily. "A disguise," blurted Harry. "A disguise, or some kind of legilimency that could hide his true self. That would -"

"Ah, you've been talking to Hermione, then," interrupted Ron with a shrug.

"Come again?"

"She's dead certain this Chairman bloke Tonks was talking about is connected to You-Know-Who," explained Ron.

"Oh. Um, no, I hadn't heard that from her," said Harry. "Er, does this Chairman, does he have a given name?"

"Well, obviously, he would, wouldn't he? I don't know it. Maybe it's really embarrassing."

Harry fiddled in the dust just under Ron's bed with his wand. "Maybe something like Mr. Morvaloo Tiddle?"

Ron roared with laughter. "That's got to be the daftest thing you've said today. Where in Merlin's name did that come from?"

"It's Tom Marvolo Riddle rearranged," said Harry sourly, knowing he should have put more thought into it. "Like how he got Lord Voldemort."

"Oy, I think Mrs. Figg had a cat named Mr. Tiddle. You suppose You-Know-Who is an animagi?" asked Ron, pretending to be worried before laughing again. "Mr. Tiddle - tha's one for the books."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle rolled the parchment tightly, and tied a short string around it. Harry got into trouble all the time, she thought. Surely he would identify with her mishaps. That is, considered a chagrined Gabrielle, if he could overlook the fact it was his room and his possessions. Gabrielle had decided that the least embarrassing way out of the mess was to tell Harry directly and apologize. She willingly ignored the fact she was in his room using his parchment and his owl to do so. Harry, Gabrielle knew, had much bigger troubles and worries than her silliness. Also, she had to keep his secrets so he might keep hers. Or, worried a second thought, he might curse her.

Gabrielle moved over to the cage set on the narrow desk. Harry's owl Hedwig, a beautiful snowy owl, hooted its complaints. Hedwig was unhappy with Gabrielle's presence again, and protective of Harry's room. The large owl's eyes turned to the message though. Whether in annoyance or anticipation was hard to tell. Hedwig had nipped her before, but Gabrielle was not afraid. She didn't have much trouble with animals. Except crups, who were very nasty creatures in her opinion. And horses, really, because they didn't seem to understand how big they were and had ridiculously hard feet. Madame Chouisse's cat was an exception too, remembered Gabrielle. It had never been right ever since the Floo Fiasco. Also, the - well, focused Gabrielle, most animals were fine. That included owls.

Gabrielle had gotten out some of the owl treats, mentally adding that to the list of things she should not be using, and opened the cage. Hedwig really was a large bird, and was a little grumpy as well. Gabrielle received two nips to her hand, which seemed fair, but then she was forced to scoot back when the owl beat its great wings. Gabrielle had not expected that and quickly apologized to the bird, then apologized again in English. She cried out as Hedwig leapt at her - but all that happened was that the owl perched in her lap and looked smugly and expectantly at her. So Gabrielle appeased the big owl by gently stroking its feathers for far longer than seemed necessary. She, thought Gabrielle, is as spoiled as Crookshanks.

Once Hedwig had decided that she had been shown enough attention, Gabrielle was able to give the owl the message and let her fly out of the window. Gabrielle found herself feeling rather pleased. This was taking responsibility for her own actions, thought Gabrielle. A sign of maturity according to Maman, though ideally Maman would never find out about it. She had written: Il etait errone et je le regrette. L'ennui n'est ce pas une excuse. She was quite proud of that. She admitted her guilt and made no excuses, although that was mostly because she had none. It would be fine, unless Harry would want to curse her. But hadn't she also written -

Gabrielle slumped forward and banged her head on the table. Harry couldn't read French - she was admiring her work so much she had forgotten to transcribe it into English. What, wondered Gabrielle, would Harry make of the message arriving with his own owl? An owl that should have been locked in his own room. Would nothing go right today? With a sigh, Gabrielle decided the best course of action was for her to just go to bed. Or under the bed, as a new sense of panic gripped her. Harry, Gabrielle realized, would want to get the note translated. What if he asked Fleur? She had written her own doom! Gabrielle could only hope that Hermione was still in Ginny's room. She had to convince the witch to get to Harry first.

v - v - v - v - v

"How 'bout Mr. Divol Mortodela?" asked Ron from his bed.

"That's pretty good. Popular luncheon guest. I've got Toidvlamm Drooler, the, er, Norwegian scourge," replied Harry from where he sat on the floor. "There's Mallt, Rider ov Doom too," he added over Ron's chortling.

"I still think 'I am Lord Wankerman' was tops," said a giddy Ron.

"The judges threw that one out, as half the letters in Wankerman aren't in Riddle's name," reminded Harry. They were wasting time, but it seemed to Harry that it had been ages since he had enjoyed doing nothing. Privet Drive had been a lot of doing nothing, but none of it enjoyable.

"Pfft, judges. You threw it out."

"Yes, because there's no 'W', 'N', or 'K' in the name. Those would be key elements in -"

"And you should know!" roared Ron again. Harry rolled his eyes at the repeated punch-line. That had gotten old by the second time it had been used. "Go another round?" asked Ron when he regained control.

"Nah, I want to, erm, give something a try. You got any rope?" requested Harry. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the box from the twins.

"Why do you ask?" asked Ron sharply, his body suddenly tense.

Harry stared at his friend in bewilderment, "Because I need some?" It was a muggle thing, Harry knew. He wanted something real, solid.

"Oh, er, right. Well, I haven't got any. Why would I have any? Wouldn't be any business of yours if I did, anyway."

"O-kay," said Harry slowly. Maybe sleeping in the potion fumes was getting to Ron, he thought. "I just wanted to try something - a way to move Malfoy."

"Oh yeah? Excellent!" said Ron, relaxing. "You could use my sheets maybe? What're you going to do?"

"You know how Dobby said wizards are all in one place, so he couldn't, er, apparate with them?" asked Harry. Ron nodded, and added a gesture indicating that he thought the house-elf was a bit mad. "Well what if that one place was in, uh, no place? A no-place he could carry?" It had sounded more reasonable, more clever, thought Harry, in my head.

"What're you on about?" queried Ron.

"The box from the twins. You put stuff in, see, but it doesn't take up any more space. The stuff goes no place. So if I get in, right, then Dobby could still do his apparition-like thing with the box."

"You've just topped Mr. Tiddle in the daftest stakes," declared Ron. "Who knows what's it like in there? Is there even air in that thing?"

"I'll use the Bubble-Head charm. And that's why I needed some rope - to make sure I can get back out. Anyway, that sounds like Hermione talking."

"If that's supposed to be an insult you've got the wrong end of it," snipped Ron.

"Just help me with the sheets, and, er, hold onto them, right?"

v - v - v - v - v

Harry could see the light from the box opening above him, with the sheet tied around his chest stretching away to it. It seemed a lot further away than it should have been, and a lot further than the two sheets tied together actually were. That was doubly odd because it felt incredibly cramped in the box as well. Everything was dark save for the possibly distant hole above, and the sides, if there were sides, were pressing in on him. It was a little reminiscent of the cupboard under the stairs. Harry shifted around trying to sit up. He felt things shift against him, but couldn't find any purchase to lever himself upright. Unseen things continued to brush past him, like they were on the other side of a blanket. No worse than spiders crawling over you at night, thought Harry. A bit worse, admitted Harry, as something that felt a lot bigger and quite a bit sharper than a spider scraped its way along the other side of the darkness. The key thing was he was clearly alive. Now all he needed to do was to get out. He tugged the sheet twice, giving the signal. He felt a tug in return, then the pull on the sheets. Harry tried, but could not help his progress at all even though the sides still pressed against him. There was no sensation of movement at all, really, just the distance to the hole slowly shrinking. When he was nearly there, Harry reached for the opening, only to find it still out of his grasp. Only when Ron's hand filled the opening and seized his arm was Harry able to help pull himself out of the flat box.

"Did you plan on staying in there all night?" snapped Ron. He ran his fingers through his hair, and looked a little pale.

"I couldn't move!" explained Harry, waving off the hazy charm around his head. "There's nothing to push against. I couldn't reach the opening at all."

"Huh. That's really weird. I could see you the whole time. You looked like you were going for a swim or something."

"Was it hard to pull me out? I tried to help..."

"Naw, the sheets came back up really easy. I, erm, thought you might have come off them, at first," admitted Ron.

"Well, it worked well enough. Let's try it with Dobby," decided Harry. He was about to call for the house-elf when Ron raised his hand.

"Shouldn't we, er... Shouldn't we ask Hermione about this first?"

"What?"

"You know she's really smart, and... and..." Ron faltered under Harry's glare.

"She'll want to get to a library first, and she'll be angry we went ahead," said Harry. A little of Hermione rubbing off on Ron was probably a good thing, thought Harry, but this was too much. He didn't like to think too much about the two of them rubbing, though. "Anyway, we already did the dangerous part. Do you want to tell her that? Come on, wands up, eh?"

"I just -" Ron was distracted by a tapping, more of a pecking, from the window. "Is that Hedwig?"

Harry crossed the room and threw open the window wide enough for the owl to duck in. Hedwig settled on his arm and let the rolled-up note drop into his hand. "What're you doing here, girl?" Harry murmured. He stared at the note - he was sure Hedwig had been in her cage, and that he had locked the door. It had be Ginny, thought Harry. He tried to pocket the note.

"Who's it from?" asked Ron.

"Oh, er, dunno. Go on, girl, have a bit of a hunt. Leave the garden gnomes, mind you," said Harry. He started to unroll the parchment and tried to come up with a reasonable story to tell Ron. It was bound to be another plan from Ginny to rendezvous, and he wasn't going to share that. The note didn't seem to be from Ginny though. It wasn't even in English.

"Come on, what is it?" prompted Ron.

"Erm, it's just signed 'G'. Could be French, possibly; can't tell what it's about. Lots of exclamation points though," answered Harry.

"'G' is for Gabrielle. Cor, she's underfoot as much as Ginny ever was, and nearly as much trouble as the twins," complained Ron. How, wondered Harry, did she get into the room? Had Ginny told her the Burrow's secret too?

"Oh, she's all right, I suppose," said Harry. Why the note though? She was supposed to have a crush on George, remembered Harry, at least she did at dinner. She wasn't going to switch, and be another Romilda, was she?

"She'll be after your cloak again, you can bet on it," warned Ron.

"But why the note then?" Sending an owl announcing you were sneaking about made no sense.

"Are the exclamation thingies at the middle or at the end?" asked Ron.

"The middle. Why?"

"Then something's gone wrong and she wanted to warn you first. I don't smell smoke, so she didn't start another fire," shrugged Ron. "Let's finish up here and then we'll poke around behind the furniture to find her."

"Yeah, all right," said Harry pocketing the note. "Dobby?"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle struggled awake, flailing and clawing at the sheets at her neck. She finally freed herself from the covers and sat up, panting, with her nightdress sticking slightly to her clammy skin. The room was dark, too dark for comfort and too dark to chase the images from her nightmare from her head. Gabrielle got up and groped around the table next to the bed for her housecoat. She finally found it on the floor to where it had been knocked.

Gabrielle opened the door to the dimly lit hallway. She had dreamt of the locket. She had dreamt of the locket and Bellatrix. Those images were awful enough, but then the locket and the thin chain were around George's neck and she could do nothing for him. Lastly the locket, as terribly beautiful as she remembered, was around her own neck, getting tighter and tighter. Something about sleeping at the Burrow was giving her nightmares. Maybe she was, as Fleur nagged, eating too much.

With the door open, Gabrielle could see that Ginny had slipped out again. Gabrielle disapproved of this, but couldn't quite decide why. It was not really any of her business, after all. Gabrielle considered what to do. Standing in the light from the hallway was better. It wasn't that bright, though, and it was at best lonely and at worst deserted. The kitchen, thought Gabrielle, was bound to seem friendlier. Especially if she got out some chicken - Crookshanks was sure to come along. Gabrielle went downstairs but was spotted before she could duck out of sight.

"(Where are you going at this time of night?)" It was Fleur. She was standing in her housecoat in the middle of the hall, looking annoyed. It can't be my fault, thought Gabrielle instantly.

"(To the kitchen. Eh, to get some milk,)" answered Gabrielle. That wasn't a bad idea, now that she had thought of it. "(Why are you up?)"

"(That is none of your concern. You need to sleep, or you will have black circles under your eyes tomorrow. That will be unacceptable.)"

"(What about you?)"

"(Children need more sleep,)" said Fleur with a dismissive wave. Gabrielle gritted her teeth.

"(You are going to Bill's room again!)" accused Gabrielle.

"(With Molly watching the halls like a mother hen?)" said Fleur angrily. More calmly, she added, "(Anyway, it is nothing for you to worry about.)"

"(You are getting married tomorrow. Can you not, eh, wait one night?)" whined Gabrielle.

"(You are a silly little girl who knows only stories and fairy tales. Go get your milk and I will warm it for you,)" sniffed Fleur.

Gabrielle was livid. How dare she talk to me like that, thought Gabrielle. I know plenty about that, and, and, and things. "(You are acting like a, eh, cheap tart. Maman will hear of this.)" That was not much of a threat, though. Usually Gabrielle had more to lose. "(No, Papa will hear of this,)" said Gabrielle with a look of victory.

"(You will do no such thing,)" commanded Fleur. She raised her chin,"(Does Maman know of that little wand?)" Gabrielle could not suppress her gasp. "(I see she does not. Something to keep in mind,)" advised Fleur. The bride-to-be suddenly smiled, "(Besides, you have heard the expression 'bun in the oven,' yes?)"

Another gasp from Gabrielle. "(You are pregnant? But - but - you are not -)"

"(No, I am not. But you see, you must have the oven hot for baking. Now go to bed before Molly catches you,)" ordered Fleur.

Gabrielle did not return to her bed, but continued down to the entry hall. Fleur did not seem to care. How, wondered Gabrielle, had she known about the wand? Her sister must be snooping through her things, which was despicable. Or, came a more exciting thought, there really was Seer blood in their family tree. Of course it would have to be, grumbled Gabrielle to herself, that Fleur would See the future, or at least the almost-future, while I See the past. Just another injustice of having a sister like her. Gabrielle consoled herself by noting that Fleur was insane. Heating the oven, hah!

The door to the kitchen was ajar, and candlelight poured into the entry hall from it. Gabrielle could see Harry and Ginny sitting with Ron and Hermione. The teens were talking to each other quietly and intently, and Gabrielle could not make out what they were saying. That spoils my plan, thought Gabrielle. If she went in she knew she would be an unwanted interruption. They would probably make her get the tea as well. And Crookshanks was already in Hermione's lap and she was, oh mon dieu, she was passing chicken to both Ron and the cat.

Gabrielle retreated from the door, and felt a little guilty because she had wanted to sit with Crookshanks when she had two pets of her own. It was just that Pepi-Z was a tuft of yarn and Poisseux was spellotape. Neither was warm nor cuddly. Perhaps I should go back to bed, thought Gabrielle. But then that would be obeying Fleur, so Gabrielle didn't. Instead, she noticed a low fire in the hearth in the sitting room. It was the only light in the room. Britain always seemed to get much colder at night, so Gabrielle crept over to the door to see if she could join whomever was by the fire. If it was Tonks and her boyfriend again, Gabrielle knew she would not be welcome.

"Hullo luv," greeted a voice from the gloom. Gabrielle smiled.

"George! Eh, hello," burst Gabrielle. She rushed into the room before reining herself in, and sat in the armchair. George sat by himself on the sofa, with a plate full of chocolate biscuits in front of him. "You are still, eh, here."

"Yeah, didn't feel like splinching myself or suffering a sobering charm," said George. "You're up awful late too."

"I had ze nightmare," admitted Gabrielle. "Eh, I was not zat tired, also," she added so she did not sound like a scared child.

"It's an epidemic lately," nodded George. His mouth was full again, noted Gabrielle. "You can sit here, if you want."

It was more in front of the fire, rationalized Gabrielle, as she moved to the sofa. "Eh, Papa enjoyed Monsieur O'Beirne's firewhiskey, yes?" George was sprawled at the end of the sofa, so Gabrielle found herself forced to use his arm draped along the back as a pillow.

"I should think so. And Ogden's Special Label, for that matter. He and Dad hit it off pretty well. Guess Ministries are the same everywhere," chuckled George.

"I, eh, am sorry zey forbid ze Wheezes in France," said Gabrielle with a yawn. It was warmer.

That made George laugh. "That's what a prank is about and what a blackmarket is for. Mind you, the French Ministry is very sensitive to labor matters. Local production, boost to the economy, and, probably, a few galleons in someone's ear and then we'll see. Now, what about this nightmare of yours?"

"Eet was nozzing. What will you wear demain for zee wedding?" This was quite nice, thought Gabrielle. Cozy.

"Naught but my birthday suit," joked George. "Well, that and a real throwback formal robe that Matty insisted on. Dragging train to sweep up the crumbs, sleeves baggy enough to hide a rabbit - the whole bloody cauldron. I plan on setting the sleeves on fire as a public service announcement against excess fabric."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle blinked awake, and tried to sit up. She could not until the warmth of George's arm was lifted from her, and then it was too late to change her mind. Oh no, fretted Gabrielle, did I fall asleep while he was talking?

"Ah, you're awake. Er, sorry about that. You looked a little cold," said George stiffly.

"Eh, zank you," said Gabrielle. She felt like kicking herself. They had been having a - real - conversation, and she had fallen asleep. She didn't want to be taken care of like a little girl. A second thought noted the fire had not been stirred up, nor the crocheted throw used. "I am sorry I, eh, fell asleep."

"I didn't want to wake you," said George. He shifted uneasily, as if nervous. "It's pretty late now. Best you head up to bed; I should probably get going too. Need to be there at the shop to open."

"Eh, yes," said Gabrielle although she did not agree. She would stay here with him if he wanted. George stood up though,so Gabrielle did as well. She trailed him into the entry hall.

"Er, I'll see you dans la matin then?" asked George.

"Oui, eh, yes," nodded Gabrielle. They stood there in entry hall, in the awkward silence, too close for a friendly wave and too far apart for an impromptu embrace.

"All right then, I'm off," announced George finally, dashing Gabrielle's hopes for something she couldn't name. He turned and headed out the door with one last nod.

Gabrielle went upstairs feeling both happy and hollow. Therefore, she did not see Mrs. Weasley until the matron blocked her path. "Having a midnight tea as well, were you?" asked Mrs. Weasley crossly. "Will no one stay in their beds?"

"No, I did not have ze tea," replied Gabrielle. "I was, eh..."

"The crumbs on your face say otherwise. Go and clean yourself up and get back to bed, for goodness sake," shooed Mrs. Weasley.

Gabrielle started down the hallway and put her hand to her face. She found brown crumbs, and wondered what it meant.

notes

1 Dumbledore - Ha!


	27. Zombies

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Zombies

Severus Snape's face was hidden by the hood of the heavy, black cloak. Within the shadows it offered, he fought for control. The blue-black candles, like miniature columns at each point of the pentagram, had been adulterated with muggle petrochemicals and it would not suit the occasion to sneeze. Self-control was a talent, though, so the irritation passed. The purveyors of these candles, promised Snape silently, would hear from him. Whatever was a 'bayberry' in any case?

Ogden Dickinbottom lay to the left, arranged on his back with his head at the base of a large, tallow candle which was appropriately dribbly. The elder wizard had taken the potion and collapsed on the spot. Snape initially thought he had been betrayed by the Malfoy lab's imported beakers, and that the old lecher had died. Instead, Ogden had simply slipped into unconsciousness. He could have been revived, Snape knew, but his present state made for easier handling. And more pleasant company.

Nagini and the trapped Dark Lord were coiled at the base of another candle. A meal of live rabbit made the snake more docile, especially since there had been a large ham attached to its prey via a sticking charm. It was to have been Sunday's meal, but Nagini would only take live prey. That was difficult to arrange even on an estate as large as the Malfoy's.

The former professor stepped up to the pentagram. The Malfoy Manor had a cellar with a huge granite boulder set into the floor. The top half had been sheared off to leave a flat, natural surface with points for various magic circles already picked out. Narcissa insisted Lucius did not use it and had never used it. The fact that she had so quickly recalled it left Snape to wonder. He shook off the speculations - it was time to begin the silly wand-waving.

"With darkness around, a vessel is found," intoned Severus, circling his wand in a spiral. The room, barely lit to start, darkened perceptibly. He placed the scroll prepared by Ogden in the center of the pentagram. It was work barely beyond Dreadful in Snape's opinion. The blue-black candles flames shot skyward as if they were fireworks. An intense cloud of ersatz 'bayberry' engulfed Snape and he nearly choked. "A darkness on sable field, Will set aside, service sealed." Snape ducked below the reeking cloud and tapped the scroll with his wand. The parchment burst into a hot, white flame. As the scroll burned, Severus spared a thought for the pathetic Quirrell - he had performed this ritual alone, displaying remarkable power if not wisdom. Snape dropped to his knees with a sudden inspiration, spreading his arms out. It would both add to the dramatic atmosphere and be below the damned acrid cloud. "Darkness swallows light candles spilled, the vessel found is again filled!"

The candle that Nagini surrounded winked out, followed by the closest one on the pentagram. Three more of the fiercely burning wax columns were extinguished in quick succession before the one burning near the prone Dickinbottom went out. That left just one of the blue-black candle burning. Snape glared at it, and snuffed it out with a quick flick of his wand. That should not have happened, growled Snape to himself. Bayberry indeed.

"_Lumos_," snapped Severus. In the pale glow of his wand tip, Ogden might have looked a touch less pale. It was impossible to discern much else. Nagini, on the other hand, did not appear to be breathing. At least, not at the careful distance Severus normally maintained. "_Inlucescium_," barked the potions master, creating globes of light on the ceiling. These shown brightly through the scented smog. "_Ennervate! Ennervate!_" Where, Snape tried to recall, was a snake's heart again?

"Did it - did it work?" coughed Narcissa from the door. She drew her wand and created a breeze.

"It was not entirely successful," answered Snape, prodding the snake cautiously. It could be torpor, considered Snape. The attempted ennervation should have done something though.

"What of our lord?" asked Narcissa. "There are - plans - underway..."

Ah yes, remembered Snape, the luckless Lucius. "Our lord, I remind you, can not die. Is he with Dickinbottom? That I can not ascertain at the moment. He has definitely moved on from Nagini; the beast has... moved on as well."

"I see," said a crestfallen Narcissa. "Has Bella returned? Frenrir seems to have - the ham has gone missing."

"Neither has returned, as far as I am aware. The absence of the ham is my doing, I wished to calm Nagini," replied Snape apologetically. "Snake metabolism is notoriously slow. I'm sure it can be recovered... I'm joking, of course," he added when Narcissa shuddered and quailed.

"Yes, of course. I - of course."

"I will bring Dickinbottom to his room. A strengthening draught should help revive him. Then we will be able to learn more."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle woke quietly to a warm weight pressing her side. She allowed herself to luxuriate in the cozy feeling: George. George? George! He was in her bed? The thought gripped her. It was exciting. It was terrifying. It was presumptuous! What, thought Gabrielle in a rising panic, did he think he was doing? If Maman caught her like this... Well, that was not as bad as Papa catching her like this. Not, admitted Gabrielle, that this wasn't nice and all. She just wasn't ready -

Another panicked thought came to her, and she used her free arm to feel down the length of her body. She was relieved to find that she was still in her clothes. A second thought noted that she was unlikely to have slept through it. Yet another thought scolded her: what kind of a man did she think George to be? Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, there had been another nightmare, and George had come to comfort her. She decided that was really very sweet of him. But now it was time for him to go before she ended up locked away forever in Delacour Manor.

"Eh, George?" whispered Gabrielle. She started to roll over. "George, it is, eh, time for you, eh, to -" A paw shifted to her face as she turned over. It was Crookshanks who was sharing her bed; it was Crookshanks keeping her warm. Gabrielle felt relieved, disappointed, and a little embarrassed. She looked across the dim room to see if Ginny had heard, but the snoring indicated it was too early for Ginny to be conscious. At least Ginny is in the right room, thought Gabrielle. She wondered if Mrs. Weasley had monitored the halls all night long.

Gabrielle returned from washing up to find Crookshanks swatting the red bobble that was Pepi-Z around. The cat pinned her pet to the bed with its claws. "Crookshanks! Non!" cried Gabrielle waving her arms at the feline. Crookshanks blithely ignored her, and lifted his paw to check his kill. The cat seemed surprised when Pepi-Z rolled away. The reconstituted puffskein must have been surprised to have survived as well, and quickly worked out that it had nothing to fear from the larger animal. The little red ball turned and rolled directly toward Crookshanks, who skittered backward, hissing and yowling, most likely, reasoned Gabrielle, from shock instead of fear.

A shoe clipped Gabrielle on the shoulder. "Shuddup! Stoopid cat..." complained Ginny groggily before rolling over again. Gabrielle scooped up the victorious Pepi-Z and the thrown shoe, and smiled.

"Eh, Crookshanks? Take zis shoe and, eh, hide it. Eh, please," requested Gabrielle. If her hands were not full she would have tried to wave. The cat did not acknowledge her. This surprised Gabrielle as the footwear had been, poorly, aimed at him. "I will, eh, tell zem how afraid of little Pepi-Z you are," threatened Gabrielle. That got her a look of feline disdain. "I could, eh, give you my, eh, sausage?" Just like Ron, thought Gabrielle as Crookshanks picked up Ginny's shoe in his mouth.

Gabrielle opened the door to let Crookshanks out, then got dressed. She was not going downstairs unprepared. No fuzzy socks this morning! Gabrielle decided to wear the school uniform's skirt and the jumper again. She knew her Maman would say something about the jumper since she had worn it last night, but Gabrielle would argue that it was only until it was time to get dressed for the ceremony. Until then she would be the mature young woman. Maturing, at any rate.

As she dressed, Gabrielle saw flashes of white light out of the corner of her eye through the window curtains. If it was a storm, Gabrielle hoped it would pass quickly. She then congratulated herself on not wishing Fleur's day was ruined - that was maturity. Also, Fleur would be a real dragon if everything was not perfect. There didn't seem to be any thunder; perhaps it was far off.

Perfect, ruminated Gabrielle. That was the kind of moment she needed with George. Perhaps it would have been last night if she had not fallen asleep while they were talking. But now she was running out of time, and the wedding preparations would take the whole day. She needed a chance to have his attention, to make him see that she was not just a little girl but was special; special enough that - well, that he should think she was special. And kiss her. Gabrielle was not very clear about what could follow. That was the real problem: she would have to go home to France and to school. But it would be enough for a start. Maybe after the wedding dinner, thought Gabrielle. But no, Gabrielle remembered a problem. George would have to take that Matty girl to the wedding. He would probably have to escort her home as well. The entire day might be lost!

There was nothing to be done about that, decided Gabrielle unhappily. There was something, though, that could make breakfast special. Gabrielle decided to make some of the coffee using the beans George had given her. Fred had said George would drink muggle coffee, Gabrielle recalled, and so would Papa. And also Bill. They could talk together while drinking the flavorful brew, like at a sidewalk bistro, imagined Gabrielle. Papa would see that George was very sweet, and he would get the Ministry to repeal the ban on the Wheezes. George, and Fred, of course, would have to come to France to set up a shop. They could stay at Delacour Manor. I, dreamed Gabrielle, could be their guide to Paris. We would stroll the Champs d'Elysee, look at shops, and visit the Auld Wizard's Zoo, not the hippogriffs of course, oh no, but they do have -

Another flash of light from outside distracted Gabrielle. If it was lightning, thought Gabrielle, it was not the ordinary kind. Gabrielle went to the window and peeked through the curtains. It was still very gray outside with the sun not fully up. The mist that always gathered in the night drifted like ghostly sheets among the trees. The scene brightened abruptly, and Gabrielle could see the cause. A luminous animal shape, brighter than the flame of a candle and much whiter, cantered into view. Streamers of mist were tangled in its antlers. "(A stag,)" breathed Gabrielle in wonder. Not the normal kind, that was certain. A second white shape bounded behind the first. It was, guessed Gabrielle, a rat, maybe? A really big rat, with a strange head. And a strange tail. As Gabrielle watched, the deformed rat spiralled up a tree. The wisps of mist seemed to scatter as the glowing rodent approached. Some drifted off on the wind while an unfortunate few were dispersed by a few shakes of the stag's huge rack. There is always, mused Gabrielle, something happening at the Burrow. There was an unexpected pang when she realized that, without her sister at home, Delacour Manor would be even quieter. It was the first time Gabrielle had ever thought about the absence of Fleur that way.

Gabrielle cradled the large bag of coffee beans in one arm and held the coffee press from Gaston in the other. She made her way carefully down the steps, not because she feared dropping the items or herself falling but because she was not sure where Fleur was. As a bridesmaid, Gabrielle knew she would have to be ordered around by Fleur all day. It would be very nice to postpone that for as long as she could. Gabrielle shuddered at the thought of what kind of state Ginny would end up in. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, I should have taken Ginny's wand for safety's sake. Gabrielle made it down to the entry hall without seeing Fleur. She hoped her sister was sleeping in a little, and not sneaking off to Bill's room. It was bad luck, remembered Gabrielle, for the bride and groom to see each other on the day of the wedding. At least, before the ceremony.

Fleur was not in the kitchen either. That was good, thought Gabrielle. She suspected Fleur would be unhappy with her making muggle coffee as Fleur did not like the aroma. Papa was there, noted Gabrielle, and so was Mr. Weasley. The men sat opposite each other in silence, mirror images of misery with their heads slumped into their hands. Maman and Mrs. Weasley were there as well, quietly scolding their spouses. Mrs. Weasley was reminding her husband that he was supposed to be seeing to security arrangements and also be escorting guests arriving by port-key, neither of which he was in a state to do. Maman was reminding Papa, in French, that as guests they needed to make a good impression which would be very hard if one could not even stand straight without groaning. Between them, Maman and Mrs. Weasley  
exchanged formulations for traditional family cures. These, surmised Gabrielle, must be the vile-looking beverages set before the men. No one took notice of her, so Gabrielle continued into the kitchen proper. There she found that the mortar and pestle she needed to grind, well, pulverize, the coffee beans had already been used. Something pale-green and peppery-smelling had been powdered in it. She reeled as an incautious sniff of the residue burned her nose, brought tears to her eyes, and even made her ears ring.

A raspy sniggering made her look around between wipes of her eyes. Of course someone would have to see that, sighed Gabrielle. She thought she was still alone, though, when she looked, or that Harry was using his cloak, but then she spotted the source of the chuckling. The old house-elf still sat on top of the icebox. And he was laughing at her.

"Why are you still here?" asked Gabrielle crossly. She sniffled.

"That'll learn you to keep your nose out of a witch's things!" chortled the house-elf.

"I am a witch," said Gabrielle straightening up. She sneezed, which lessened the effect. Now she needed a handkerchief.

"So you say," replied the house-elf. He folded his arms across his chest and stuck out his chin.

"I have a - eh, I have a wand," declared Gabrielle. She started out firmly, but ended more quietly, remembering the widened gaps above the hinges.

"You don't frighten Geff. I've seen your naughty bits!" cackled the old elf. Gabrielle was pretty sure what the house-elf meant, but not at all sure why he would say it, unless it was just to embarrass her. She moved to the other side of the table and checked the hem of her skirt, just to reassure herself.

"Eh, should you not be at Hogwarts?" asked Gabrielle. All the other elves had left. Unless Dobby had brought more this morning.

"Is not Geff's doing, that Geff is here. That puffed-up popinjay Dobby is the one! He should be hanging his head in shame, that one! Not lording about with his socks and hats. He is making the young elves think... Bad Thoughts," complained the old house-elf from his perch. No wonder, thought Gabrielle, most people ignore house-elves - they are completely insane. If she had overlooked the laughing, she could get on with her task in peace. "Is our fault, really. Be a good elf, be a Good Elf we tells 'em. The young ones are so afraid of clothes... Practically lose their water when it's time to work the laundry," muttered Geff mostly to himself. "Is not clothes that keeps the elf - it's the house and master. They's forgetting that - house and master! That Dobby is confusing 'em! 'Not your master if they is paying' - bah!"

"Eh, yes," said Gabrielle politely. She wrestled with the mortar. What was this green stuff?

"Got my own hat," said Geff abruptly. "Found it in the tower. Keeps Geff's ears warm when Geff sleeps. Geff should wear it - no magic in a hat. The young ones need to see that."

"Oh, zat is, eh, nice," offered Gabrielle. Perhaps Maman could use her wand to clean this, thought Gabrielle, as the residue resisted scrubbing.

"Would you like to see it?"

"Eh...what?"

"Geff's hat. Would you like to see it?"

"Oh, eh, no. Zat is, eh, do not trouble yourself," replied Gabrielle. What was he talking about?

"Just as well. Geff doesn't know where he is," moped the house-elf. "No one calls for Geff much either."

"You are at ze Burrow," said Gabrielle automatically.

"Yes, thank you. That is very helpful," said the old elf after a moment. Gabrielle frowned at his tone. There was a bit too much Fleur and much less lunatic elf in it. And, whatever was pulverized in the big stone mortar was turning the wash water green and it was stinging her hands.

"Eh... You can clean zis, s'il vous plait?" asked Gabrielle hopefully. He was a house-elf after all.

The house-elf peered over the top of the icebox. "That's detention work. Students gets no help with detention work. That is right and proper."

"Zis is for breakfast! Zis is not a school," protested Gabrielle. And if she were a student and if this was a school, then she would surely not be in detention. A mutinous second thought suggested that it was good to hope.

"You said you was a witch. Geff knew better."

"Clean zis for me," ordered Gabrielle trying to force a smile. She waved her hand in the regal fashion.

"Witches uses wands," snorted Geff from his perch.

"Not all ze time!" snapped Gabrielle. Fleur had not even spoken to her this morning and the day was already going badly. How much worse would it get? Did that only work on the Weasley brothers?

"(He is right not to listen. You tell lies.)"

"(What? I do not tell lies,)" spat Gabrielle, spinning around to face the kettle. They were non sequiturs, came a second thought, an important distinction. An embossed face twisted in agony greeted her.

"(Oh? You told me to whistle music for Her Most Worshipfulness. She has shushed me twice! I have fallen from favor; I am disgraced. I am spurned! No tea this morning - only the most vile concoctions. Heated in a horrible cauldron! It is your -)"

"(Oh shut up!)" cried Gabrielle in frustration. Everything it not going to be my fault today, thought Gabrielle. The house-elf sniggered again. Tears came to Gabrielle's eyes, which made her angry as well. She did not want to be known as a pathetic, silly little girl who cried all the time. Gabrielle poured out the stone mortar into the  
sink. A good dent will shut the kettle up, thought Gabrielle. She raised the heavy base above her head.

"(Gabrielle, please. Your father is very sensitive to - what are you doing?)" asked Madame Delacour, just her head poked into the kitchen proper.

Gabrielle turned and awkwardly juggled the stone bowl to the table with a loud thud. She quickly turned back to the sink to wash her hands. They had been stinging, but it was mostly a ruse to buy time to calm down. Over the running water, Gabrielle said, '( I just, eh, wanted to make some muggle coffee. For Papa - you know he likes it.)" Her mother entered and stood behind her, which did not help. "(I needed to grind the beans but the mortar was dirty and I can't get it clean and it was stinging my hands,)" whined Gabrielle. It came out in an unintended rush. She found she could not help herself, and blurted,"(And the house-elf laughed at me and the kettle was rude.)"

Madame Delacour put her hand on Gabrielle's shoulder. "(Really child, do calm down. I know you must be anxious about Fleur's big day. Containing your excitement, however, is a mark of maturity.)" Gabrielle gritted her teeth and started to count. She got to five - it didn't help her either. Child, seethed Gabrielle. Child, and I am acting like one. "(Mrs. Weasley was out of Ennyall root. She suggested this Eastern horseradish. That is what the mortar was used for. It is an excellent purgative! Papa will be his usual self very soon,)" said Gabrielle's mother with a pat for Gabrielle's head. Gabrielle tried counting again as Madame Delacour's wand make quick work of the clean-up. She turned back to her daughter, "(Go and ask Mrs. Weasley if she would help me. I want to try merging the Delacour and Weasley restorative recipes. Doing so certainly enhanced the properties of the purgative.)"

Gabrielle went back into the eating area feeling like she would very much like to start the day all over. Her reeling emotions took another turn: George was sitting at the table. Gabrielle saw that he was talking to Papa and Mr. Weasley quite loudly, and laughing with gusto. Both of the older men were wincing. Papa, thought Gabrielle, was definitely too green to be near his usual self. He fumbled in his robes for something. His wand, supposed Gabrielle, although it was on the table in front of him.

"Hullo luv," called out George very loudly. "Good to be alive, innit?"

"(I have died... and this is Hell...)" groaned Papa.

"Cheery one, ain't he?" boomed George. Mr. Weasley, hands clamped to the side of his head, moaned.

"Had to get the other bottle, didn't you Arthur?" hissed Mrs. Weasley.

"Eh, I zink - bon matin, George - I zink it is ze firewhiskey zat made him, eh, sick," said Gabrielle to George, a smile creeping into her voice.

"Do you think? Weird!"

"Eh, Mrs. Weasley? My mozzer, she would like some help, please. To, eh, mix zee, eh, restoratif," reported Gabrielle.

"(Oh Merlin! A knife then... let me end it now...)"

"Oh, all right then," said Mrs. Weasley. "Er, since you're dressed and all, you might not want to get too, er, close." Gabrielle wrinkled her nose in horror.

Once his mother had left, George slammed his hand down on the table. "Right, gents! Now, who's feeling a bit off, eh?"

"George, I beg you. We may not survive as it is," whispered Mr. Weasley feebly.

"(I hate you,)" murmured Gabrielle's father once he was back in his chair.

"Ah ah ah! None of that now," chastised George boldly. More quietly, he continued,"Here, have a slug of that and see if I'm not your new best friend." Identical small potion flasks slid to a stop in front of the suffering men. No one moved.

"(Eh, Papa? I am going to make ze muggle coffee. Would you, eh...)" started Gabrielle, but if anything her father turned greener.

"Come on, come on Dad. It's this or whatever comes out of that kitchen," prompted George. Mr. Weasley paled.

"Would you like a cup of coffee George? Eh, muggle coffee?" asked Gabrielle. At that moment, Mr. Weasley came to a decision and downed a swallow of the offered potion. Gabrielle's jaw dropped open as his head, neck, and hands flashed to a nasty violet color, before slowly fading away starting at the top of his slightly balding head on down.

"Blimey," Mr. Weasley said in shock. "That seems to have done it. Really done it - thank you George. Henri, please, drink up."

"Give it a minute, luv," winked George. Gabrielle's father looked at Mr. Weasley's grinning face and hesitated still. A loud gurgling noise from beyond the door pushed him into action, and he downed a dose.

As the livid violet cleared from his face, Gabrielle's father stared at the little flask. "Mon Dieu. C'est une miracle."

"Sorry, no. You're not getting something for nothing," said George.

"What do you mean, exactly?" worried Mr. Weasley.

"Let's just say you should wear socks today. There's no law that says it has to hurt."

Mr. Weasley pulled up a pajama leg, revealing a mottled, dark purple shin and foot. "Well now! Bit ugly, but not much trouble. How's it done? Some sort of mmplh-"

"Gotta have the funny though," crowed George. Mr. Weasley's question was interrupted by his tongue, which grew suddenly until it was at least a meter long. George laughed heartily, and Gabrielle couldn't help but laugh too. Her Papa added a nervous laugh, with a look of annoyed dread on his face.

"I'b bebby bobby, Bebi," said Mr. Weasley as the Frenchman's tongue tumbled from his mouth. Gabrielle could see the anger building in her father's eyes, and moved over to give him a tight hug around his neck. That usually improved his mood.

"I feel I should point out that while you two are quite the amusing sight, there is one unfortunate side-effect," started George. Both fathers snapped their heads around to glare at George, the long tongues whipping across the table. Actually, thought Gabrielle when she saw that, that is quite gross. Her father remembered where his wand was, and reached for it.

"Papa..." warned Gabrielle.

"You see, neither of you will be able to swallow liquids for the duration. I'm so terribly sorry," grinned George. After a moment of thought, Mr. Weasley looked over with a grin on his face. That made him look even more ridiculous, and Gabrielle started laughing again. Her father started shaking and making blubbering sounds, which could have been him laughing or him choking on his enlarged tongue, so Gabrielle had to check. It was laughter, or as close as he could come.

"Now, about that coffee..." said George, leaning back in self-satisfied triumph.

v - v - v - v - v

It had been a short-lived triumph, thought Gabrielle. Maman had been very disappointed that her mug of hissing, bubbling orange potion could not be consumed. She scolded Papa for falling for the prank, mostly because she could only scold George when Mrs. Weasley took a breath. Mrs. Weasley did not need many breaths, and when she did she whacked George with a cauldron ladle while Maman upbraided him in French. Mr. Weasley got up quietly and fetched two plates. On one he neatly coiled his tongue; the other he offered to Papa. Papa, who Gabrielle felt should not drink firewhiskey again because he obviously forgets himself, gave Maman's ear a quick lick with his elongated tongue. That was gross also, thought Gabrielle. Maman froze, and turned red. Gabrielle retreated to the kitchen proper quickly, wondering if there would be any survivors.

Gabrielle braced herself for more impertinence, but Geff, the house-elf, had retreated to the further reaches of the niche above the icebox. Gabrielle resolved to ask Hermione about what could be done about, eh, done to help the house-elf. He could not just live there, could he? I mean, thought Gabrielle, there is food and drink in the kitchen, obviously, but, well, he didn't even have his hat. It must be really hard to just sit there and hope someone remembers you. Of course, Gabrielle reminded herself, he was not all that polite, which might explain things.

Gabrielle anticipated and forestalled the kettle's tirade by explaining that Papa and Mr. Weasley had been ill and sensitive to loud noises. Such as George, recalled Gabrielle, nearly giggling. She informed the kettle from Maman that it would be all right to whistle now, and then spent some time looking for the regular, old kettle.

Gabrielle could not find the old kettle. She briefly suspected the new kettle had done something with it, but that was dumb. A small pan would have to suffice. Gabrielle turned her attention to the beans. They smelled so good. She began crushing the beans in the mortar, which released more of their scent. It reminded her of Gaston's shop. There was the earthy smell she loved, and a hint of exotic fruits in the aroma. There was also a kind of nutty flavor to the smell, and cool, moist volcanic soil. There was the warmth of the sun as the path emerged from the shaded forest, where the bushes grew, onto the open hilltop looking over the lower foothills. Beans were drying on the screens already. The sun was getting hot at this altitude. There was more shade beneath the pavilion. A carved stone pillar stood there, its jungle cat face still recognizable but the winged skull, Death, above it was so eroded that it was only there if one knew it was supposed to be there.

Something warm and wet hit Gabrielle's neck, bringing her thoughts back to the Weasley kitchen. Her hand found her shoulder to be wet as well. She looked around for the source, which became obvious a moment later.

"(I said, what do you think you are doing with that pan?)" demanded the little metal face of the kettle.

"(Did you, eh, did you spit on me?)" asked Gabrielle incredulously. She had the pestle in her hand an smacked it into her other hand menacingly, which hurt. She tried not to show it.

"(You were being rude. Why is there a pan of water on the stove? I am the kettle of this kitchen! That is my solemn task.)"

"(Perhaps I want to boil eggs,)" taunted Gabrielle. "(And I was not, eh, being rude.)"

"(Do you think me stupid? I can see the coffee press!)" cried the kettle. No, thought Gabrielle, not stupid so much as horribly obnoxious.

"(Your water is old. I want fresh water,)" provoked Gabrielle.

"(Aah! A pan of boiling water - it is unheard of! You must fill me with fresh water!)" The kettle rattled back and forth, nearing the edge of the shelf.

"(You would boil water for me?)" asked Gabrielle.

"(Yes! No! I - I do not like you,)" deflated the kettle.

"(I will fill you,)" promised Gabrielle. "(And I will use your water if it is ready before the pan is boiling. But if you are rude and spit again, I will pound your spout shut.)" It wasn't a real threat; that kind of damage would be too noticeable. A small dent would not be so obvious, nor much in the way of retribution either.

"(I can easily boil water faster than that unworthy vessel,)" assured the kettle. Gabrielle poured out the old water. Before refilling the kettle, she teased, "(I don't know... There are, eh, bubbles on the bottom already...)"

"(Fill me! Fill me! In the name of all that is hot and bubbly, fill me!)" demanded the kettle frantically. Completely insane, thought Gabrielle, really pathetic. She did start to feel a little bad for tricking the metalware, though. The pan was no where close to boiling. Gabrielle wondered if she had been a bit too much like Fleur.

v - v - v - v - v

When Gabrielle had envisioned a morning coffee with George and Papa, it had, of course, been with both of them present. Now Papa was gone. Not that he would have been able to drink with his tongue sticking out to his belly, but that wasn't, after all, going to be permanent. She came back to the table with three mugs, which had taken two uses of the coffee press to fill, and set them down next to George. Mr. Weasley was still there with his coiled tongue; Mrs. Weasley was there too.

"Phew. That's a ripe cup," said George, pulling over the closest mug.

"Eh, ripe?" asked Gabrielle. She noticed that George was wearing denims today. Stained denims.

"Like mackerel that's gone manky. Don't mind the taste though," explained George. He took a sip while holding his nose. Gabrielle looked on unbelievingly. "A few sips and I get used to the smell. Kind of like eating those weird cheeses, the ones that have gone off on the inside." This has got to be a joke, decided Gabrielle. She liked those cheeses.

"Eh, last night, at dinner, wizz Fred, what did you do?"

"Is the Prophet here yet? Let's see if you can guess," winked George. He pinched his nose and took another swallow of coffee. "Ah, now that clears the head."

"I zink , eh, Tonks brings ze Prophet," noted Gabrielle. Harry and Hermione came into the kitchen at that point. Hermione was rubbing her hands together, as if they were cold. "Was Fred's date over?"

"I don't think so - she knows what's in the cauldron," said George quietly. Gabrielle got the impression that he did not want his mother to hear. Would Mrs. Weasley really disapprove of Verity, wondered Gabrielle. She seemed nice, if you overlooked her insanity.

"Is there any tea?" asked Hermione, looking at Gabrielle. What, thought Gabrielle with a frown, is she expecting? Can she not see I am having a conversation?

"We are having ze muggle coffee," informed Gabrielle.

"Oh, well, that's lovely," smiled Hermione and then, leaving Gabrielle gaping, took the last mug before Gabrielle could say anything.

"And what were you two up to so early, eh? Surely not some prank?" asked George. Mrs. Weasley's attention sharpened. "Not when Fred and I are banned for an entire day?"

"And night," reminded Mrs. Weasley.

"We were chasing off the mist," said Hermione, taking a seat. She looked curiously at the Mr. Weasley's dangling tongue and the congealing orange sludge. She did not burst into flame, so Gabrielle gave up glaring.

"That's putting on airs, isn't it? Not enough to be tweaking the Dark Sod, now you want to control the weather," said George.

"Well, the mists are supposed to be from the dementors, er, breeding. What if what we think is mist is really some sort of, you know, baby dementor? Just wanted to see what Prongs made of them," shrugged Harry.

"I should be getting on with getting breakfast," announced Mrs. Weasley. "I'll do some tea as well."

"Oh, what a lark! Up before breakfast to tangle with dementors. Just another day in the life of the Boy-Who-Lived," joked George.

"Who is Prongs?" asked Gabrielle.

"Harry's patronus is a stag, like his father's animagus form," explained Hermione.

"I saw it!" realized Gabrielle. "Zere was zis, eh, big rat, perhaps, wizz it."

"It was an otter!" exclaimed Hermione. She glared at Harry, who had laughed.

"You are sure? It had ze long, ugly body and..."

"Yes. I'm sure." snapped Hermione.

George changed the topic. "And how is, uh, Pepi, luv? Back to his old self, is he?"

"Eh, not exactly."

"Aw, rough go there. I'm sure there's another at the shop. Fred's trying to cross them with brussels sprouts for a lovely green color," consoled George. He added, "Not all that successfully."

"No, eh, he is okay. Eh, he is a zombie, of course. I call him Pepi-Z now," explained Gabrielle. She smiled reassuringly when George gave her a doubtful look. Her smile brightened when his ears started to redden.

"A zombie?"

"Oui. I zink he is made from a hat." Gabrielle tried to shake Pepi-Z down to her wrist, but he seemed to be stuck. She couldn't reach up the jumper's sleeve far enough, so she pulled open the neck to capture Pepi-Z just below her shoulder. Gabrielle brought him out to show George. When she looked up, she found the others staring. Too late she pictured what she must have looked like, and her cheeks pinked.

"What is that?" asked George, bending his head over Gabrielle's hands.

"It is Pepi-Z. You see? Just like Pepi used to be," said Gabrielle. The red ball of yarned rolled around in her cupped hands, and wrapped its long tongue around an offered finger. Papa is like this now, thought Gabrielle with a giggle. She cleared her throat and added, "Dobby said he is happy in zere."

"In there? What does that mean, and what's Dobby got to do with it?" wondered George. He chased Pepi-Z around Gabrielle's palm with his finger, which made Gabrielle tingle. "It does look like it came off a hat, doesn't it?"

"Oui," breathed Gabrielle. He was so close, thought Gabrielle. If I put my head down, and turn it just so... Mr. Weasley made a gagging noise.

"Funny thing, though. It was looking pretty normal when I dropped it off at Eeylops. Did Edwina say anything?" George pulled back and took out his wand.

"Eh, is Edwina, eh, is she ze shopkeeper?" A second thought bade her to stop talking. There were secrets to be kept.

"It's not just charmed," muttered George, poking Pepi-Z with his wand. "Why would she sell a toy, anyway? Not her stock."

"I bought a toad. He is also, eh... he is... He is a toad," stumbled Gabrielle. She wasn't thinking clearly; she was concentrating on the gentle way George held her hand. Is that being stupid, wondered a second thought.

"Could be a munuscrux - wouldna thought 'Wina the Whinger capable of it."

"A what?" asked Harry sharply.

"A munuscrux. An object a soul resides in. You know, sort of like a, um, ghost with a home. Tricky to make," explained George. "Way more sophisticated than charms for adding personality to something."

"Like a kettle?" asked Gabrielle.

"Yeah, like that. Kitchen stuff is most popular for it. Can't see why, myself. Mirrors are also common, clocks too," continued George. "It's a bit too inconsistent for real production though. Custom jobs is where you see it, especially older work. Let's see, there's an easy test. Erm... _Calathic Percontro Expecto_." Pepi-Z was suddenly bathed in writhing, red translucent flames.

"George!" gasped Gabrielle. But the flames had already winked out, and the former puffskein was not burned.

"What was that?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, it's a spell to see if there's an actual soul in something. The more mundane personality charms have gotten really good, so if your going to pay a premium for quality, you had better be able to check," said George. "Caveat emptor, right?"

"There's a spell to see if there's a soul inside of something?" asked Harry slowly.

"Sure. Why not? That's nothing. The hard part is to get the soul inside."

"Isn't that, er, really dark magic?" asked Hermione.

"Making a munuscrux? I don't think so. 'S'not like you're trapping a soul there by force inside a lamp, like in the old bedtime stories. You invite it in somehow; that's why the workmanship and materials are usually pretty posh." George looked at the red bobble skeptically as he said that.

"You invite a soul in? Why would a, er, soul want to, um, go in?"

"Well, I'm no theologian, but I take it eternity is a long time."

"I zink ze house-elves, eh, made Pepi-Z," allowed Gabrielle.

"Hmm? What house-elves?" Oops, thought Gabrielle.

There was a resounding slam from the entry hall. Everyone jumped; Mr. Weasley bit his tongue in surprise. He could hardly avoid it. The kitchen door crashed open next. Harry's wand was out, but he put it back. It was the auror Alastair Moody. He, thought Gabrielle, looks very mad.

"Potter!" barked Moody. He threw the Prophet onto the kitchen table. It flopped open to the front page. "Come with me, boy." Underneath the three-inch headline 'Bloody Harry' was a picture of the Boy-Who-Lived, lit by his flaring wand, covered in what Gabrielle knew to be bloodstains.


	28. A Fall

Chapter Twenty-Eight - A Fall

No one moved as minds struggled to comprehend. Then, George, his father, and Hermione dove for the paper. George won, in part because he not only reached for the paper but also poked a finger into Hermione's rib cage. She fell short of her goal with a squeal.

"That wasn't fair," complained Hermione.

"There's rules for getting the paper?" asked George. "You'll starve around here if you play like that. Now what's this all about?"

"That's what I want to know. Move it Potter," ordered Moody, his magical eye scanning the teens restlessly. He squinted, "You too, Granger." Gabrielle hoped Madame Pomfrey would arrive; another dose of medicine would save them. And, possibly, her as well. George scanned the story; Gabrielle could see the picture. There was only one other person in the dim photo, and that person was blond and looking for a toad. Gabrielle didn't think she could be recognized, but, of course, who else could it be?

"What's this? 'Minister's top deputy auror, Scrimgeour's Chosen One, turns rogue?' Harry's putting on airs again - someone's going to have to deflate his ego soon. Mmm - history of dangerous instability; this must be Skeeter. Sacked Eeylops using his codename Mr. Nubbies? Tsk, sloppy work there, Harry old man. Oh dear - 'calls into question the accounts given the night Albus Dumbledore died,'" browsed George. He turned to the inside pages. "'Unidentified victim dispatched in alley.' 'Stubby Boardman meets his match?' Oh, this one's a little different: 'mystery woman arrives to clean up Eeylops carnage.' Quite the hat you had there. Were you supposed to be a muggle garden gnome?"

"(I am dead. I am so dead,)" whispered Gabrielle.

"No, my mistake. Apparently it was 'Mrs. Nubbies, a diminutive covert auror on loan from the German ministry.' Formerly covert, one would assume. Perhaps that should have been Ms. Nubbies?" joked George. The pale face of Gabrielle did not put him off at all. "Page three - eyewitness accounts of the Eeylops stand-off. Excellent action shot of a Door-Knocker going off. Page four - Potter, Potter, Potter, blah, blah, blah. Come on, where is the important news?" He flipped another page.

"(I am dead,)" repeated Gabrielle numbly.

"That's it?" exclaimed George loudly. "'Goblin representatives of Gringotts reported a break-in. No confirmed reports of loss.' Only the second bloody time in history that Gringotts has been breached and it get two bloody lines? On page bloody five? Bloody Potter!" George threw the paper aside angrily, but then laughed when he realized what he had said.

"Let me see that, George," requested Mr. Weasley. His tongue had returned to normal unnoticed by the others.

"(I, eh, must go, eh, now. It was not my fault! Things, eh, happened, very fast,)" mumbled Gabrielle. She stood up, wringing her hands, but where could she go? Maman and Papa would find her, no matter where she went.

"Easy now, luv. Don't panic," said George. "Things happen around Harry - everybody knows that, to be expected really."

"Why did Harry go to Diagon Alley? Why did you go?" asked Mr. Weasley over the top of the paper.

"(I had to go to the dress shop. Eh, I -)"

"What's she saying George?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Eh, I was made to go..." started Gabrielle. Relief suddenly flooded in as a light appeared in the darkness. "Fleur made me go to ze dress shop! She, eh, lost her senses and attacked!" It wasn't her fault after all. Except for tricking Fleur in the first place, argued a traitorous thought. But, piped a more loyal one, that was Ginny's doing, really. As for the rest - everybody knows things happen around Harry. That was expected, right? There was no reason, decide Gabrielle, to hide. She sat back down.

Until, that is, she remembered that she had stabbed that awful witch. She stood up. If Maman found out about that and recalled that she had stuck the forks into the twins - well, that was a Pattern of Behavior. Maman could be difficult about such things. If she took the little knife from Gaston...

No, thought Gabrielle, that witch had been trying to hurt Hermione. Her coven sisters would defend her, certainly. Gabrielle sat down again. She was confident that her actions would be lauded. Unless the Mended Wand was mentioned. Gabrielle knew she had dragged the others to it. Pickle was almost certain to mention it since she had kicked him. She stood up. Papa would be beside himself. If he found out that she had been there once before as well, then, shuddered Gabrielle, that would be another Pattern of Behavior. She would not go to Beauxbatons; she would never leave Delacour Manor again.

Wait, protested Gabrielle to herself. There was nothing wrong with hot chocolate. I could - I could say I thought it was a bistro, determined Gabrielle. They were sure to look different in Britain. That was logical. The Leaky Cauldron had served spirits after all, and she had been allowed there. Yes, thought Gabrielle, it was not proper for her to go into a pub. Therefore, she would have no idea what a pub would look like. Logically, it was unintended. She sat down.

Gabrielle sprang back up with a shriek. She had been bitten, or stung, or had, having instinctively reached for the injured area - sat on a tack. A tack? George was laughing himself silly. How, boiled Gabrielle, how could he at a time like this? She looked around, but there was nothing to hit him with. Except for her own shoe, which she aimed at his head.

Her swing missed, though, as George rolled out of his seat. Gabrielle swung again, missing as George back-pedaled. "Stand still, George!" ordered Gabrielle.

"Easy now, luv," laughed George, dancing out of range.

"Zat hurt!" declared Gabrielle. She swung her wildly, uselessly, and then charged.

"(A little, only. A little,)" tried George, "Whoa -" Gabrielle's charge was unexpected, and he stumbled back in retreat. The two ended up on the ground, Gabrielle straddling George, but George holding Gabrielle's arms away.

"If you two are quite finished," reprimanded Mr. Weasley. "You might recall there is a bit of a situation here." Gabrielle was not finished; that is, if she could get her arm loose she was not finished. George's face flushed red. From exertion, perhaps? All she needed to do was to keep up the pressure. As she struggled and wriggled on top of him, though, something wriggled back. Gabrielle froze, turned pink, and shifted just enough to be sure. Then she flung herself off of the prone prank purveyor.

"That's better," said Mr. Weasley. "Now sit down and tell me what I should tell your mothers." Gabrielle smoothed her skirt and quickly took her seat after, of course, checking for more tacks. She examined the table in front of her carefully. George remained on the floor a little longer. When he did take a chair at the table, it was on the  
other side from Gabrielle. He summoned his mug of coffee gently, and neither looked at the other.

Mr. Weasley flipped through the Prophet irritably. "We don't need this, especially not today," said Mr. Weasley, running his fingers through his hair. "Er, you wouldn't know who the, ah, unidentified victim is? Was?"

Gabrielle could hardly forget. "Bellatrix Lestrange. She was horrible, very much." A spray of coffee from George indicated his surprise.

"What?" choked George at the same time his father asked.

"She was in Eeylops. She, eh, did ze curse on me," explained Gabrielle. There was no reason to explain about the knife from Gaston for now. Or possibly ever.

"And you're alive?" asked George.

"Eh, yes. I wore ze black, eh, lingerie zat you gave me.," replied Gabrielle. Mr. Weasley appeared to repeat the word 'lingerie' to himself silently. "It was ruined after ze curse, zhough."

"Really? Hmmph, maybe we were too quick to give up on that hybrid funnelweb silk - never could get it to earth itself reliably. Maybe it just needed to age a bit. What sort of curse? Can you remember?" asked George brightly.

"Eh, I zink it was... Septum-sempra?" It didn't sound quite right, but Gabrielle had been somewhat distracted at the time. Both George and his father paled considerably. George sucked in a breath noisily, before releasing it.

"Oh Merlin," breathed George. Their reactions were bringing back Gabrielle's panic. "It had to have been the aging, there's no way it could have..."

Mr. Weasley's finger went through his thinning hair again. He tried a smile. "Still, butter side up, right? It, uh, might not be the time for this, with so much, erm, to do."

"Eh, butter?" prompted Gabrielle.

"He means that it ended well. Er, I'm , er, sorry about before, luv," said George. Gabrielle wondered which part of before he meant.

Actually, she wondered not only which part of before he meant, but - what - before meant. Gabrielle knew physically, in an academic fashion, as it were, what it meant. Listening to Ginny and waking up Pickle had given her that. But what did George mean by it? Gabrielle knew George was interested in her; Fred had said that. Found her interesting, corrected a second thought which she ignored. Were all the Weasleys sex maniacs? Or was it, grasped Gabrielle with a shock, the Veela allure? Poor George! Here she sat in a reasonably demure skirt instead of a childish outfit, and he could hardly control himself when they were close. She would have to be careful.

Oh no, remembered Gabrielle, there was her bridesmaid dress - and the pink goose eggs. What could she do then when she looked really good? George might explode with desire, or cause a scene in front of Papa. Well, concluded Gabrielle, she would just have to be firm with him and remind him of proper behavior. And perhaps not climb on top of him, came another thought.

Gabrielle realized she had not replied to George. Besides being rude, he might be sinking into a bottomless well of self-loathing if she did not forgive him. Although, it was hard to tell with the sporting section of the Prophet in front of him. The Cannons had their narrowest loss of the last four seasons. "Eh, I forgive you, George," said Gabrielle generously. "George?"

"Oh, sorry luv. What was it?"

v - v - v - v - v

Breakfast had only really just begun when Moody stomped back into the kitchen. Gabrielle held her breath, fearing that whatever he had done to Harry and Hermione, who were not with him, he would do to her next. She kept her eyes on the rather generous plate of toast, eggs, and bacon that she had in front of her. Gabrielle spared a thought as to where Crookshanks was, and whether bacon would do, then returned to thinking inconspicuous thoughts.

It must have worked because the scarred auror passed her by, and bent his head low to whisper to Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley then got up and followed Monsieur Moody out, taking most of the newspaper with him. He had been sitting on it. Gabrielle presumed that he did not want Mrs. Weasley to see it. Which did not make very much sense. After all, thought Gabrielle, it was a newspaper, was it not? It was there to spread the news. Surely most of the guests arriving would have seen it? Mrs. Weasley would find out at some point.

Gabrielle's parents returned to the kitchen. There was no indication as to where they had gone. Gabrielle supposed that Maman had needed a private moment to scold Papa for his behavior. Curiously, both were not dressed exactly as they had been. Also, Maman was not frowning or tutting at a jovial Papa, and filled a plate for him. Papa looked approvingly at the new seating arrangements. Until that very moment, Gabrielle had not considered them. Now it bothered her.

"(Have I not eaten enough already this morning, my dove?)" asked Gabrielle's father with a wink. He reached over and gave his wife a squeeze around the waist.

"(Henri! Please, there are children present,)" shushed his wife. Gabrielle pretended to ignore them and the 'children' reference. Why, wondered Gabrielle, should Papa having eaten mean anything to me? Mrs. Weasley is the one who would be disappointed. Except, Papa began eating with no small gusto. They are - so - weird, thought Gabrielle. She rolled her eyes to indicate that, despite being her parents, she was not closely related to them.

No one noticed her actions except Maman, whose eyes narrowed. Gabrielle stuffed some toast in her mouth so she would not have to explain herself. Before Maman could complain about that, Fleur swept into the room. Gabrielle's mouth went dry with dread, and the toast became an impossible-to-swallow lump.

Gabrielle did not have to wait long."(You are wearing that ridiculous 'G' again?)" asked Fleur after making her greetings to the others. Gabrielle could see George raise the sporting section higher. "(You should take some care as to how others see you.)" Gabrielle took a sip of coffee to try and revitalize the toast. She needed to clear her mouth for her rebuttal. The 'G' is for Gabrielle, after all.

"(Why do you have enough food to feed 'Agrid? This will not do,)" declared Fleur. Gabrielle's plate was swept clean with a wave of Fleur's wand, leaving a single piece of toast.

Gabrielle found her voice after a painful swallow. "(I was eating that! Maman!)" complained Gabrielle. Now she didn't even have bacon for Crookshanks.

"(Oh yes? Trying to grow again?)" accused Fleur. "(I think not. Where is Ginny? She will need a lot of time to get ready. Go and get that slug out of bed.)" Gabrielle looked to her mother for some sort of intervention, but Madame Delacour was busy fussing with Fleur's hair. "(Is that the muggle coffee or is Molly making those horrible 'kip-pairs' again?)"

"(It is coffee. It is from -)"

"(You should prepare some for William. Now go get Ginny,)" ordered Fleur. To her mother, Fleur said, beaming, "(The mists cleared early this morning. It is going to be just perfect.)"

Perfectly awful, grumbled Gabrielle to herself. She resigned herself to slave status and stood to go. The last, lonely piece of toast looked so sad on her plate. Gabrielle realized, guiltily, that Ginny would need her shoe back, which meant finding Crookshanks. "George?" asked Gabrielle quietly. "Oy! George!" she added less quietly when he did not hear.

"(Gabrielle, that is rude,)" chastised her mother. "(How Molly puts up with this, I can not see.)"

"Yes luv?"

"(I do not like him addressing her like that,)" muttered her father quietly. Gabrielle couldn't hear Fleur's rejoinder, but did catch the word silly. This day, thought Gabrielle, will be awful.

"I need ze, eh, sausage. Eh, please," requested Gabrielle.

"You need a sausage?" repeated George. For some reason this made him grin.

"Oui. Give me one of yours," said Gabrielle. "Please." She waved her hand just in case that was working again.

George shrugged his shoulders and Gabrielle started around the table to reach him. Except he did not wait and flicked a banger out to her expertly. Gabrielle caught the thrown meat product inexpertly, and quickly wiped her jumper with her hand.

"(Is there a reason, any reason, you are making such a spectacle of yourself?)" asked Madame Delacour after appearing to reach the count of three.

"(I need the sausage to get Ginny ready,)" replied Gabrielle as if that were obvious. She could see George silently repeating her words, and smiled at him before rushing from the room. She did not want to explain about the cat and the shoe.

Now, thought Gabrielle, where would Crookshanks be? If he was really the same as Pickle, then he would either be in the kitchen, with Hermione, or asleep. The cat was not in the kitchen, although he had slipped into the kitchen unseen once before. Hermione, as far as Gabrielle knew, was still with the creepy auror. Gabrielle was not going to just walk into his clutches. It was best to assume that Crookshanks was asleep.

Gabrielle could see that the sitting room door was closed. That was unusual, so that was probably where Monsieur Moody was interrogating Harry and Hermione. If Crookshanks was under the table behind the sofa, then she would never get the shoe. Getting the cat to hide the shoe in the first place had been immature, scolded a second thought. Well, thought Gabrielle, throwing the shoe was immature also. And Ginny started it.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape strode up the path to the entrance of Malfoy Manor, past the protective sigils carved into hewn stone posts. These encircled the manor grounds and formed a powerful ward. The power and intricacy of it intrigued Severus, and he would have liked to know more about the protection. He had discovered that the magics had stood for many generations of Malfoys. It was doubtless that neither Narcissa nor Lucius would have the slightest knowledge of its workings. If there was time for research there was certain to be a grimoire in the library that described the warding. It was most likely blood-based.

With the licentious Dickinbottom temporarily, or possibly permanently, incapacitated, the potions master had felt it safe to avail himself of, if not a proper laboratory, at least properly calibrated glassware and potent ingredients. He carried several flasks of strengthening draught, and a selection of tonics for boosting mental faculties. He had almost dropped the lot when he saw the Prophet's garish front page. It seemed completely unlikely, but the coincidence was too great: Bellatrix disappears; the Boy-Who-Lived is covered in blood. Snape suspected his flock of fawning fans would be quite thin again. It would be interesting to see what Scrimgeour did with his 'Chosen One'.

One other thing bothered Severus. While Potter wore the panicked expression of any other student caught in a prank gone pear-shaped, it was the spell that created the dazzling light on the end of his wand that gave the former professor pause. Another coincidence? Or was the Ministry finally serious about making a move on the Dark Lord? Snape wondered if his parcel had been delivered. If Potter could overcome Bellatrix, though, then Frenrir could be assumed dead as well, dagger or no. Severus knew he would need to take an excursion to Diagon Alley, and soon. It was imperative now to find out what had happened, and whether any seeds of doubt had taken. If not, Snape knew where he stood on Potter's internal list. What would the final task from Albus mean then?

v - v - v - v - v

The ginger-haired feline was not in the room shared by Hermione and Fleur. Gabrielle had not thought finding Crookshanks would be that easy, but one could always hope. It was a struggle, but Gabrielle resisted the urge to shift Fleur's jewelry box a few degrees out of alignment with her brushes. Or, to dab the sausage on the inside of one of the dresser drawers. Gabrielle had done that once before with the smallest bit of stinksap. Finding the source of the practically undetectable odor had driven Fleur batty for hours. That had been very funny to watch, then not funny at all when Fleur had worked out what had been done.

Gabrielle was beginning to regret having brought the sausage with her. Not that it was a real sausage, at least by French standards. There was too much bread in it. That was not the problem though. The problem was that it was going cold, and warm grease all over one's hand was no where near as gross as a thickening layer of congealed grease. How many of these, wondered Gabrielle, did George have in the morning? Mon Dieu!

Gabrielle decided that there was no point in trying to find the cat. He was either somewhere she couldn't go, or somewhere she didn't want to go. She would just as likely find the shoe. Gabrielle continued up to the room she shared with Ginny.

To her surprise, Ginny was actually awake. A bigger surprise was that Ginny was on Gabrielle's bed, laying atop the covers. At least Harry was not with her.

"Eh, Ginny?" began Gabrielle. "Eh, Fleur, she says you should, eh, get ready."

"Is this the toad you bought yesterday?" asked Ginny, completely ignoring Gabrielle's statement. She rolled over with Poisseux in her hand. "It's absolutely gorgeous! Were there any more like it?"

"Yes. No. Eh, zat is the toad I bought. His name is Poisseux. I did not see any ozzers like zat," replied Gabrielle.

"Good value for two sickles," judged Ginny approvingly. An opposing viewpoint in the form of a whining growl came from the top of the wardrobe. Ah, thought Gabrielle, there he is. "Tough little bugger too. I think he bit Crookshanks on the nose. Didn't you, Pwa-so?" cooed Ginny.

Gabrielle was now of two minds about the sausage. On one hand she did not want to carry it around anymore, and she had promised it to Crookshanks. On the other hand, she did not appreciate the cat trying to eat her pets. It might seem like she was forgiving him if she gave him the sausage. There was another possibility though. "Eh, Ginny? Are you, eh, hungry?" Gabrielle held out the sausage.

"Did you hit your head again or something?" asked Ginny incredulously.

"No. It was for - eh, I zought zat - aah!" startled Gabrielle. Crookshanks had spied some prey that wouldn't fight back, and had leapt at the meat held in her fingers. The sausage and the cat landed on the floor; another pounce and the fried item was defeated. Crookshanks proudly carried his kill beneath Gabrielle's bed.

"Hail the mighty hunter," laughed Ginny. Gabrielle left to wash her hands.

v - v - v - v - v

When Gabrielle returned, Ginny was dressed, a surprise, but was on her hands and knees looking under her bed. "You don't see my other shoe, do you?"

"No," replied Gabrielle without bothering to look around. There was a shout from downstairs; Mrs. Weasley was calling for Ginny.

Ginny stomped to the door, every other thud muffled because one foot was only in a sock. "I can't find my bleeding shoe!" shouted Ginny out of the door. She closed it with a bang. "I don't see what the rush is," said Ginny to Gabrielle.

"Eh, Ginny?" asked Gabrielle. She needed to warn Ginny about the newspaper. "Ze Prophet - it, eh, had ze photo of Harry. On ze first page."

Ginny looked up from her renewed search. "A photo of Harry? From... yesterday?"

"Oui. It was from ze, eh, alley, I zink."

"Oh bloody hell - how? There was no one in the alley but us."

"I do not know. Eh, Monsieur Moody, he is angry, very much."

Ginny slumped to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Then she stood up. "We've got to help him," Ginny declared.

"Eh, certainement, yes," agreed Gabrielle. Unless, she thought to herself, it involves describing everything in front of Maman. "How?"

"Well, erm... We'll come up with something. Help me find my other shoe, will you?"

"Yes," replied Gabrielle. A thought sparked in her head. "I will look here, again. You should wash up."

Ginny glared frostily. "I have washed up," she bit out.

"Your hair, eh, is mussed from ze searching. Please, it is so Fleur does not, eh, explode," begged Gabrielle. The last part was bound to sound sincere. She needed time to convince Crookshanks.

Ginny stared at her a moment, then the older girl sighed and gathered her things. "Stuck-up, overgrown fairy..." complained Ginny on her way out. Gabrielle immediately poked her head under the bed. Crookshanks was sitting quite regally with his front legs out in front of him, like the carved stone lions near the old palace. Gabrielle almost giggled as his successful sausage safari had really boosted his ego. She slid closer to him.

"Crookshanks, I need Ginny's shoe back," whispered Gabrielle urgently. "Please. She, eh, must get help to Harry." The cat did not look at her, but yawned. "Do not be like zat. Zis is important. Eh, show me where ze shoe is and, eh, I will get you some, eh, some... kipper?" His ears perked, giving himself away. "Or, perhaps, ze, eh, salmon?" Gabrielle did not know if there was salmon available, but she figured that Crookshanks would not know either. The feline got to his feet and stretched, and Gabrielle pulled herself back from under the bed. Ginny stood over her, tapping her wand against her other hand.

"Well now," said Ginny. "Found it, did you?"

Gabrielle smiled reflexively. She was part Veela. "Oh. Eh, zat was fast."

"You're not as slick as you think you are," warned Ginny.

"Slick?"

"Slippery, tricky - whatever. I am a Weasley."

"Yes," said Gabrielle. "You are." She didn't get the point, but you couldn't argue with it.

"You and the damn cat better have my shoe back here in ten minutes, or I'll give you both a taste of my Bat-Bogey hex!" threatened Ginny. Crookshanks trotted out of the bedroom, at a pace that suggested a strategic withdrawal. He is leaving me, thought Gabrielle, to take the blame.

"It... eh, was... I will..." started Gabrielle. But what could she say? Ginny had obviously heard everything. She was so difficult in the morning, thought Gabrielle before giving up and fleeing after Crookshanks.

Crookshanks was heading down the hall, but continued past the stairs. He did not dart into Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room as expected, but instead slipped through a metal grate set into the baseboard. If the cat was going to hide on her, vowed Gabrielle, then she would send Poisseux after him.

Gabrielle knelt down at the grate. Surprisingly, it seemed to be solid cast-iron, in a pattern of twining flowers. It did not yield when she pushed or pulled. She was sure, though, that Crookshanks had gone through the grate. "Crookshanks!" she hissed, trying to look like she had not lost her senses. There was a meow in reply, and it came from the darkness beyond the grate. Gabrielle squirmed to the floor to see if she could spot Crookshanks, wishing she had worn the denims. He sounded like he had gone in a ways. She put her face to the decorative metalwork to peer into the gloom, and was abruptly sucked in past the grate and into the darkness. The dirty, dusty darkness that smelled stale and mouldy and was probably crawling with centipedes. Gabrielle pushed herself onto her hands and knees, then stood up. Tried to stand  
up - she was barely out of a crouch when her head banged painfully into the ceiling. It hurt, a lot. She lay on her side rubbing her head, pretending she didn't hear the tiny scratching sounds. It helped to believe that the noises she wasn't hearing was Crookshanks dragging Ginny's shoe back.

As if to mock her, Crookshanks mewed. It sounded like it came from the end of a long, dark tunnel, which was obviously true. There was not enough space for Gabrielle to turn around, so she had to roll onto her back to face the way she came. If the skirt is ruined, thought Gabrielle, then Crookshanks will be on the wrong end of a hairless  
hex!

Gabrielle crawled back to the grating, which still felt solid and refused to budge. She put her face to it, even making sure her nose poked through as much as she could so that it passed the interstitial event horizon, or something. Nothing. Well, concluded Gabrielle, this is the entrance. That meant rolling back over in the filth to go the  
other way. In hindsight, thought Gabrielle, she should have let Ginny hex her.

The vertical slit pupil of a cat opens wider than a human's. In addition, a reflective layer at the back gives the eye of a cat twice the chance to see in very dim light. Gabrielle's eyes, because of her Veela heritage, were more like limpid pools of entrancing beauty than she knew. To stare into them was not to stare into the windows of her soul, but more of a mirror which reflected the starer's soul. Looking deep into the eyes of a Veela meant seeing a soulmate; what one wanted to see. If one was chosen, the eyes worked in reverse as a filter. A Veela could find the perfect mate. This did not provide an advantage in low light. Gabrielle could hear Crookshanks, or perhaps, supplied her second thoughts, vicious rats, ahead. She could not see that he was on a shelf next to a ladder, sitting there with Ginny's shoe. Gabrielle could also not see that the ladder led not only upwards, but downwards. She fell into the hole.

There are a lot of advantages to not dying in a long fall, and only one real disadvantage, which is that it hurts. Gabrielle fell, but because the openings between floors were not aligned she tumbled from edge to edge until she crashed to the bottom in a heap. Battered and breathless, Gabrielle lay there trying to get her bearings. There was light by her head, and she rolled painfully onto her side to see it better. She wondered if all her bones would need to be removed this time. They all hurt. Gabrielle did not scream or cry out - that would require too much breath and getting that breath was so very painful. She knew that no one would find her in the tunnel, so she  
dragged herself toward the light. It was another of the small grills. Beyond it was the kitchen proper, but she could not see anyone. Gabrielle was trapped. She leaned her head against the cast-iron bars of her prison to rest up for her eventual scream, and was then pulled through.

Oh, thought Gabrielle, the exit. She blinked at the suddenly bright light. The smell of breakfast cooking filled the air. She could hear muffled voices. Gabrielle crawled forward and lurched upright using the worktable, her arms landing carelessly and her hands knocking aside objects. She leaned heavily, unsteadily against the wooden top. Dark spots flickered in her vision.

"No-o-o! Get off! Let go!"

There was a howling squeal coming from nearby, but Gabrielle was thinking about elephants. There was a small herd of elephants at the Auld Wizard's Zoo, both the common kind and the more magical kind, the ones with extra tusks. She liked elephants. Their eyes were so beautiful. It quite made up for how rude they could be with their trunks.

"Geff wasn't going to eat it! No Geff wasn't! Geroff!"

Gabrielle looked to her right. Oh, thought Gabrielle, it is the old house-elf. He was flailing around like a fly in a spider web. Funny he couldn't pull away. Not like an elephant at all.

"What is going on in here?" asked Mrs. Weasley as she pushed through the door.

"Oh no! Oh No-o-o!" howled the house-elf. "Geff wasn't going to eat it!"

"Gabrielle! Oh Merlin! What has happened to you?" Mrs. Weasley bustled over to Gabrielle's side.

"(I fell... through the... house...)" moaned Gabrielle in a bare whisper.

"Did you get into the coal shed?" wondered Mrs. Weasley. "You're filthy." She started to examine the battered girl. "Er, dear? Why don't you sit down? The house-elf would like his arm back, I believe."

"No, no, no!" cried Geff. He held a waffle in the hand that Gabrielle had, until moments before, been leaning on. A shower of golden sparks danced around him as he moaned and cried miserably. Geff fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, sobbing. Gabrielle followed him to her knees, then continued her way to the floor. Oh yes, thought Gabrielle. Shock.

"I meant in a chair, dear," sighed Mrs. Weasley. "Nothing for it, I suppose."

v - v - v - v - v

The next bit was all a blur to Gabrielle. There had been a lot of shouting for a while, which she had not been able to follow. Then came a sharp series of stabbing pains, which she did take notice of. Someone dabbed her forehead with a cool cloth.

At the sound of her name, Gabrielle opened her eyes. She looked up at her mother, who held the cloth. Her father's face was twisted with anxiety.

"Miss Delacour," called the too familiar voice of Madame Pomfrey. "Breathing easier now, are we?"

Gabrielle tried a deep breath. There was only a little tightness, not too painful. "Yes, eh, zank you Madame Pomfrey."

"If I had to guess, I'd say you were trampled by a herd of hippogriffs," said the medi-witch. "Or were playing quidditch. What did happen?"

"I, eh, fell. Zere was a hole in ze floor, I zink. I did not see it."

"A 'ole in ze floor? In ze 'alls? C'est impossible," questioned Madame Delacour.

"Non. It was, eh, inside the wall," explained Gabrielle.

"(Inside the wall? What can she mean?)" asked her father worriedly. "(She is still senseless.)"

"(Perhaps, Henri, but she has always had very little sense,)" replied her mother even while she tenderly combed Gabrielle's hair from her brow. A brow which creased after the comment.

"You only have some cracked ribs. Thank Merlin nothing was badly broken, such as your neck. Another lump for your head, some scrapes, and enough bruises for a tub of Bruise-Be-Gone. That was quite a fall," guessed the healer.

"I, eh, hit many zings on ze way, eh, down," added Gabrielle.

"Molly could have handled it, but I gather you are to have an active role in the afternoon. You will need a good rest until then, and then an early night," ordered Madame Pomfrey. She took out a familiar bottle, poured a measure, and held it out to Gabrielle. Gabrielle did not move to accept it.

"I zought zere were no broken bones," argued Gabrielle staring in trepidation at the dose of Skele-Gro.

"The ribs are set for now. This will help them knit together."

"Eh, is zis because of Monsieur Moody's eyes?" asked Gabrielle suspiciously.

"I don't know what you are talking about," sniffed Madame Pomfrey. She added more Skele-Gro to the cup. "Six ribs to heal needs a bit more."

Gabrielle opened her mouth to point out this flagrant abuse of the healer-patient relationship, but her mother cut her off. "(Be a big girl, Gabrielle, and take the potion without all the fussing.)" Young woman, thought Gabrielle as she choked down the Skele-Gro, not big girl. And she was not fussing, either. Madame Pomfrey was being mean.

"Henri? I've brought the Fidelius down," said Mr. Weasley in a tired monotone. "We should head out to meet the first arrivals." His voice sounded odd to Gabrielle, and he seemed older and grayer. It was probably the after-effects of the firewhiskey, or the treatments for them, guessed Gabrielle. Although, noted a second thought, Papa is fine now despite being as bad off earlier. She watched them leave.

"I'll leave another tin of Bruise-Be-Gone. It's too bad they don't make it as a bath salt," said Madame Pomfrey.

"Zank you, very much, Madame Pomfrey. You 'ave been so kind. You will stay for zee wedding, of course?" asked Gabrielle's Maman.

"It would be lovely, thank you, but no. I'm afraid I can't. I've nearly a full ward after that bad business in Kent! Nothing too serious mind you," replied the healer. She packed up the black bag and levitated to the hearth with her wand. "Start on the bruises that will show,in case you run out of the Bruise-Be-Gone. Molly hasn't needed this much since the boys moved out." The boys, thought Gabrielle. Would they always be the boys to them? And then Gabrielle knew: Monsieur Moody had told Mr. Weasley about Percy, about his son. And the poor man! Gabrielle knew he would have to keep it from Mrs. Weasley, that he would have to pretend that nothing was wrong, or everything would fall apart. Although, she had to admit, he was doing a poor job of it at the moment. But that might be because she could See. Once Mrs. Weasley was told though, there could be no more pretending. It would be real. Ginny slipped into the room. She had both shoes, noticed Gabrielle.

"Zank you again. We will begin immediately. Zee guests, zey will begin to arrive."

"I can help Effy, Mrs. Delacour," suggested Ginny. "Apparently I'm not to eat breakfast this morning."

"Effy? What is zis?"

"Oh, er, just a pet name for Gabrielle," shrugged Ginny.

"And eet means what?"

"Ummm... you know, I can't recall just now. George gave it-"

"It was Fred!" interrupted Gabrielle. That earned her patronizing smiles.


	29. The Little People

Chapter Twenty-Nine - The Little People

Gabrielle made her way back downstairs slowly. There were occasional shooting pains in her rib cage. Probably from the punitive dose of Skele-Gro, thought Gabrielle. She also smelled faintly of Bruise-Be-Gone even though she had washed. Ginny had been very thorough, and a tin and a half of anything was bound to stay with a person. Gabrielle was back in the denims and wearing one of the embroidered shirts. The skirt and the jumper were both in desperate need of a magical cleaning. Crookshanks had better not be expecting salmon, thought Gabrielle. It was mostly his fault, after all.

Gabrielle headed back toward the kitchen. Officially she had had a single piece of toast. Ginny had only been allowed half a piece of toast and some tea, since Fleur did not believe that she had not eaten the sausage Gabrielle had carried. Unofficially, the two girls had eaten their fill from the tray Dobby brought. Dobby came via Harry, who was in enforced hiding in his room and would not be able to go to the wedding. At least, not as himself. Or as Ginny's escort, something that clearly annoyed Ginny even though she tried not to show it. Gabrielle could tell, though, from the vigorousness of the ointment application. Dobby had needed some of the Bruise-Be-Gone as well. The house-elf did not explain why, but admitted that Geff had punched him. Dobby said that he had deserved it, but didn't seem too upset.

"Dat's de wun Coop!" said a small voice in a whisper that carried. A shout would have been only slightly less noticeable.

"Shuddup," hissed another voice. "Didja see wot de last'un dat was de wun did ta Corner? Dis place is crawlin' wid bigjobs. If'n I hadna prom'sed yer ma..."

"Hello?" said Gabrielle brightly. A contingent of the Second Corps guardin' gnomes could only mean one thing: A present from George. Or Fred.

"Aw, badgers! Git ready ta run - 'ere she cooms," muttered the second voice. The voices came from the far side of the stairs. Probably close to the little cupboard beneath the stairs, thought Gabrielle. She bent close and peered around the railing.

"Hello? I will not hurt you," promised Gabrielle. Two red-capped gnomes stood next to the little cupboard's door, which was slightly ajar.

"Eas' now, bigjob, cuz I will 'urt you," warned the slightly taller of the two, Coop.

"You have anozzer, eh, rock?"

"Yeah, an' itsa magic wun dis time, rit," claimed Coop. He looked nervous, still.

"Eh, can I see it?" asked Gabrielle curiously.

"'Course not. It'd be inv'sible, rit?"

"Zen how do I know zat you have ze rock?"

The gnome tilted his head and stared at her. "I jes' tol' you."

Gabrielle was about to order the gnome to stop being difficult when the smaller garden gnome asked, "Can I give it t'er? Dat's dried feverfew, I'm sure o' it."

"It is not dried feverfew! It is yella - is blond," protested Gabrielle.

"Wrong bigjob Coop! Run fer it!"

"Shuddup Pipe. Worms 'ave more guts'n you," admonished Coop.

"Worms're all guts Coop," replied Pipe, licking his lips. Gabrielle wrinkled her nose.

"Is zere a package for me?" asked Gabrielle. "Geor- eh, Forge has sent one before. And, eh, Gred."

"You 'ere dat? Dis is da rit'un!" announced Pipe excitedly.

"Why not jes' ask ta be trown over de wall? Keep it doon," said Coop irritably. "G'on an' give it t'er."

"Zank you," said Gabrielle politely. She was somewhat disappointed in that the object passed to her was wrapped in plain paper and string. "Is zere, eh, a paper, also?"

The gnome named Pipe suddenly looked panicked, and rummaged in his crudely made shirt and then, to Gabrielle's horror, his equally crude trousers. Coop scrunched up his face in concentration. Pipe stopped rooting in his trousers, and pulled them open at the waist. Gabrielle was about to say that she did not need the paper, in case the gnome Pipe had found something. Coop spoke up before she could, "Naw, no paper. Jes' da package, rit."

"Den wot's dis?" asked Pipe, poking at something in his trousers.

Gabrielle decided that she did not want to know. She stood and moved to the stairs, taking a seat on them as far from the members of the Second Corps as she could. Gabrielle really hoped George and Fred did not rely too much on the gnomes to guard the house.

"Hah! Dat's no' a paper, ya cobber," chortled Coop. Gabrielle untied the strings holding the wrapping on. If it was a new Wheeze, she knew she would have to wait until tomorrow to try it.

"Can I eat it?" asked Pipe, still louder than his compatriot. Gabrielle revealed a small bottle of milky liquid. It looked the same as the hair-coloring Wheeze she had.

"Did wun o' dem worms crawl outa yer guts an' eat yer brain? Dat's wot we bunged up de holes in ya wid aft' dat hen got ya tryin' to take dat egg," snapped Coop. He sighed, "No. You canna eat it." Gabrielle discovered that the wrapping had a message written on it. Her eyes were first drawn to the part where the letters bounced around and flashed red. It was a warning not to use the liquid if it had separated. That part was underlined three times. The advisory 'do not shake' was underlined four times. Gabrielle looked at the liquid in the stoppered bottle again. It seemed all right as she swirled it around. A second thought wondered if shaking meant the same thing in Britain as it did in France, so she stopped twirling the bottle.

It was, read Gabrielle, a variation on the hair-coloring Wheeze, as she had guessed. The twins had changed it so that one could choose the colors, up to three, and the colors would change once a minute. The only problem Gabrielle could see was the next sentence, which simply read, 'Probably.' That was a pretty powerful sentence for being so short. That it was just before the dancing, flashing warnings only increased its effect.

A shadow fell across the crumpled note and Gabrielle looked up. It was Mrs. Weasley; Gabrielle realized that was why she didn't hear the garden gnomes anymore.

"There you are, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Your mother is asking after you. And - what - is that?" Gabrielle had tried to slip the bottle into a pocket as she stood. She wasn't sure if it was because Mrs. Weasley was used to spotting George and Fred's tricks, or if it was because she had needed two hands to fit in, that she was noticed.

"It is for my hair. Fleur said I was to wear colors in my hair." Gabrielle suspected that anything attached to the phrase 'Fleur said' would be accepted today.

"Oh, er, fine, fine then. You haven't seen Hermione, perchance, have you? I'm afraid there's a bit of a house-elf crisis at the moment."

"She was wizz Monsieur Moody," supplied Gabrielle.

Mrs. Weasley's expression darkened considerably. "Alastor told me what you all had gotten into. Thought you could hide it from me, did you?"

"Non, no," said Gabrielle honestly. It was Maman that she hoped to hide it from.

"It's going to be a nightmare!" spat Mrs. Weasley. "I'm relieved, of course, that you, dear, are all right. You will not set a foot outside the Burrow again! Is that clear?" asked a suddenly looming matron.

"Eh, yes, eh, of course," agreed Gabrielle instantly, smiling in what she hoped was a grateful way. "Perhaps Hermione is wizz Pick- eh, Ron," she added to try and be helpful. Gabrielle immediately regretted her words. Hermione was surely in enough trouble already; getting caught with her boyfriend would not help at all. Gabrielle knew what they could be up to.

"Do you think so? Ron needs a bit of a push on his studies, but maybe his complaints about Hermione riding him too hard are spot on." Gabrielle's mind's eye brought up an image for the phrase Mrs. Weasley had used. It was from her Grandmere's little book, and she felt her face heat up. "Yes dear?" prompted Mrs. Weasley suspiciously.

"I should see Maman," blurted Gabrielle.

Mrs. Weasley sighed, "I suppose I could shrink some of the boys' old clothes for him. Why his old tea towel is no good now is beyond me."

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape, his black robes almost snapping in the air, fled down the long hall of the southern wing of Malfoy Manor. The long, hand-woven carpet, showing a fanciful woodland scene turning into a fiery inferno and then back, muffled the sounds of his boots. It had not, the former professor had come to know, been a good idea to share his suppositions on Bellatrix's fate with Narcissa. The much put-upon Madame Malfoy had reacted poorly, as if another pillar had been kicked out from beneath her wobbling world. That had been a surprise to him, and he had emphasized that there was no evidence or indication as to what had occurred. Though perhaps, thought Snape, given Bellatrix's penchant for violence and her obvious instability, Narcissa knew there was little hope. A further surprise was her desperate plea for him to avoid Diagon Alley, to stay safe for Draco's sake. A ludicrous proposition, thought Snape. He knew that without contact with Potter, tedious as that was likely to be, there was no safety for him nor Draco. As it stood now, it was possible only the Dark Lord was more wanted at the Ministry. He had to know if Potter had received the parcel.

A pleading, whimpering voice brought Snape up short. Ah, grimaced Snape, either Dickinbottom has lost his mind and is trapped in a nightmare, or the Dark Lord has successfully transferred. Now the trick was to determine which it was. He waited for a lull in the lamentations, then knocked on the heavy door. There was a cry of anguish, a clatter, and then the softly high voice of Dickinbottom called out coldly, "Enter, Severus." The dallying on the ess sounds ruled out insanity, thought Snape. He pushed the door open.

Dickinbottom stood in a lavender bathrobe next to a jumble of grooming items that had tumbled to the floor. He looked pallid, with a clamminess dampening his brow, but stood firm and proud without the usual mincing. The real difference between this being and the true Dickinbottom was the face. Snape had heard the tales of the Dark Lord emerging on the back of Quirrell's head, but this was more horrible. Here something moved beneath the visage of Dickinbottom, moving it like the hand inside a child's puppet. It was disconcerting. The eyes looking out, though, were clearly the Dark Lord's, and were redder and more snake-like. Severus approached silently, then bent on one knee, "My lord."

"A curious choice, Severus. Tell me why."

"He is a powerful wizard and a willing participant. He has a talent for magics of the mind. I thought that might prove helpful," replied Snape. He could see now that it was a matter of coordination. When the former Dickinbottom was not speaking, the mouth on the face did not always align with the Dark Lord's underneath.

"Talents and abilities squandered for small, mean perversions," noted Voldemort. "I can not feel Nagini."

Blast. "My lord, I was unable to revive her after the ritual," explained Snape, trying not to tense up. If one expected punishment then the Dark Lord could be quite generous.

The puppet that had been Ogden Dickinbottom sat on the bed. "This body is old and ravaged by excesses."

"That was a motivating factor in Dickinbottom's submission. It is a temporary measure until a new body can be formed," said Snape. He pulled out the selection of potions. "I have several elixirs -"

"Set them on the dresser," interrupted Voldemort. He picked up Dickinbottom's wand from the bedside table and gave it a dexterous twirl with his fingers. "A surprisingly good wand. Where is mine?"

"I will have Amycus bring it immediately," replied the potions master quickly.

The Dark Lord hissed. "I know it is not good that you did not bring it with you. Lord Voldemort sees all."

"Yes, my lord."

"I can see that there is more news that you believe I will hold you responsible for. Tell me, Severus." Snape could not stop a gasp as he was swept into the air before being lowered smoothly into a chair.

"My lord, Ollivander sent word. Buried beneath colorful tales is a failure to achieve results. The ships ferrying the giants were scuttled after the creatures ate the muggle crews. The ships were adrift and attracting the attentions of the muggle authorities," informed Snape. He risked a glance at the Dark Lord's face, but could not discern anything from the mask of flesh he wore. "Wormtail missed his booked passage." An uncomfortable silence ensued. Snape noted that, except for the eyes, the Dark Lord appeared to have receded. Several mannerisms of Dickinbottom's returned. The way the hands were held; the stroking of the goatee.

"My lord, Narcissa has met with several emissary's to the Chairman," said Snape carefully. "We have made it known that he had fallen quite ill. The Prophet suggested Scrofulus."

That which was slowly becoming more like Dickinbottom suddenly snapped back to the Dark Lord, and he waved the wand in angry, slashing motions. The sting of an invisible whip landed across Snape's chest, spinning him to the ground. "Fools! Malfoy is a tainted name. There was to be no association with my Death Eaters," seethed the Dark Lord. He paid no heed to the gasping his host body was doing. Snape said nothing. "A plan," continued the Dark Lord as he settled heavily back onto the bed, "that worked only too well. You could not have known better. I require every edition of the Prophet since my... illness."

"Of course, my lord," answered Snape. This was going as well as could be expected, and Dickinbottom would not survive long at this pace. The Dark Lord would need him. There was, however, one more thing to deal with. "My lord? Bellatrix is missing."

The dull red glow from the eyes sparked. "You suspect something, Severus."

"Yes. It is -"

"It is of no consequence at the moment. You suspect the same or you would have moved from the manor. You will make enquiries as to what has transpired. I will make my own as well," ordered Voldemort. "Now, the potions. What have you brought?"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle pushed open the door to the kitchen and stopped short at the sight. The room was packed with wizards and witches, and the table was bigger than she had ever seen it. Gabrielle recognized many from past meals at the Burrow. They were not all guests, she realized. More then a few of the men were eating haphazardly, staring, with varying levels of surreptitiousness, at Fleur, Maman, and - Aunt Laurel! Oh great, thought Gabrielle. Why is she here now? It was too late to turn around now; Maman was already watching her. Gabrielle moved to her father's side.

"(Gabrielle, say hello to your Aunt,)" hinted Madame Delacour.

"(Hello Aunt Laurel,)" said Gabrielle in a monotone. "(How are you?)"

"(I am quite well, child. You are looking very... foreign today,)" replied her aunt as she looked at the denims and slightly over-sized blouse Gabrielle wore. "(Do I detect a hint of your favorite perfume, bruise ointment, as well?)"

"(I fell, earlier this morning,)" said Gabrielle, as if it were a skinned knee. She tried to work out how to ask Aunt Laurel why she was here already without it sounding rude.

"(She broke six ribs,)" added Maman in what Gabrielle considered an unhelpful way. Gabrielle glared at her mother, who was used to such things and able to disregard it.

"(Quite the fall. So, no hint of protective magic then?)" asked the least favorite relative.

"(It may have been the only thing that kept her alive,)" offered Papa, also unhelpfully.

"(I got a letter from Beauxbatons,)" reminded Gabrielle. She knew what her aunt was implying.

"(Of course you did,)" said Aunt Laurel with a smirk. "(Apolline, Henri has such influence in the Ministry these days.)"

"(It is true,)" acknowledged Gabrielle's mother proudly, cupping her hand under her husband's chin. She beamed at him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Gabrielle's father's eyes glazed.

"(It was nothing. I would do anything for you dear,)" burbled Henri. "(I shall become Minister and rename Paris in your honor. I  
shall -)"

"(He is a silly man, though,)" interrupted Aunt Laurel playfully.

"(I can do things,)" declared Gabrielle, and she knew she could. "(I can,)" started Gabrielle. She could almost silencio loud noises, she could summon an item if it wasn't too far away and it was soft, and she could conjure a flame. But, Gabrielle realized, if she said any of those things then her Maman would go looking for the little wand. She was still a proper witch though. "(I can See the past.)"

This proclamation did not have the effect that Gabrielle desired. There was no moment of quiet awe, filled with the sudden and shameful realization that they had underestimated her all those years. Aunt Laurel, in fact, pursed her lips in a polite attempt not to laugh. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, they had not caught her use of  
the word see. "(I can - See - the past,)" said Gabrielle again, trying to enunciate the capital. She had deserved the letter.

"(Yes, dear, your very special,)" giggled Aunt Laurel. Maman stared at the ceiling. Papa, saw Gabrielle, was nodding his head in agreement. It was very sweet, but not of much help to her.

"(Gabrielle. Come here so I can look at you,)" commanded Fleur's voice. Gabrielle spun around instantly, glad for an excuse to get away even if it just meant Fleur would take over criticizing her. Fleur was already back to talking animatedly with her friend and maid-of-honor Gisselle. Gisselle was nearly as tall as Fleur, nearly as blond, and nearly as pretty. She was nearly Fleur herself, really. The two girls were very close. Gabrielle knew it was because Gisselle agreed with and followed Fleur in everything, something Fleur approved of. The only flaw Fleur could see in her friend was that Gisselle's bust was slightly fuller.

"(... teeth were as black as coal! Absolutely disgusting. And, the most awful smell every time she opened her - ah, Gabrielle,)" said Fleur as Gabrielle approached. Gisselle, who had been laughing at Fleur's story, wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself. "(Come over here. You remember Gisselle, of course.)"

"(Yes. Good morning Gisselle,)" said Gabrielle politely, although it took some effort to be polite as Fleur's near twin had not stopped snickering. "(How was the port - hey!)" yelped Gabrielle as the bottom of her blouse was lifted high. She clamped her arms at her sides.

"(I want to see that the bruises are gone,)" insisted Fleur continuing to lift the back of the blouse.

"(Not here!)" said Gabrielle shrilly. Has Fleur gone mad? Again? "(Ginny took care of them.)"

"(Oh for goodness sake, there nothing for anyone to look at anyway. You are not wearing the little helpers,)" said Fleur, still tugging.

"(What do you mean by little helpers?)" asked Gisselle.

"(Oh my God, Gisselle. Madame Malkin is a treasure. My dress is her master-work, of course, but she could do - nothing - with the dress on Gabrielle. She just has no shape at all,)" explained Fleur. "(Madame Malkin had to order her a set of Mrs. Udderly's Magical Mammaries!)" The two girls burst out laughing, Gisselle always laughed at Fleur's jokes, and Gabrielle broke away. Would, groused Gabrielle, Fleur tell everyone that? She hurried for the kitchen proper, turning back to send a deadly Look at Fleur as another squeal of laughter erupted. Gabrielle turned and looked ahead almost in time to avoid colliding with a red-haired wizard carrying a plate of fried eggs and toast. The plate was caught between them; Gabrielle got the side with the food. She kept hold of the plate as they separated. Nothing fell to the floor, but her shirt was decorated with yolk.

"La naiba! That was my breakfast," complained the wizard. He was clearly a Weasley, not as tall as George and wider than Ron. It had to be Charlie, thought Gabrielle.

"Eh, I am sorry!" said Gabrielle quickly. And quietly. She hoped that neither Maman nor Fleur were watching. It would look a little odd, Gabrielle knew, but she could get to the kitchen proper with her back always turned to the table, without having to show the mess. She tried a smile that suggested a little discretion would be useful, but gave up when the wizard only squinted at her. "Please, do not say anyzing. Eh, my mozzer, eh -"

The wizard's wand slid into his hand from the sleeve of his leather greatcoat and he vanished the dripping breakfast. "You're Fleur's little sister, right? You were at that ruddy tournament."

"Eh, yes, I am Gabrielle. You are Charlie?" Not little, thought Gabrielle, only younger.

"I am. Scourgify. You don't seem to have grown much," noted Charlie as he cleaned the worst of his breakfast from Gabrielle's blouse. She decided that this must be where Pickle had learned his manners. Charlie tapped the plate with his wand. "How 'bout a refill Gabby?" Definitely the place, frowned Gabrielle.

"It is Gabrielle, please. 'G' is for Gabrielle," corrected Gabrielle. It would have been more effective if had she still been wearing the jumper, which she was not. Gabby is awful, decided Gabrielle. Charlie furrowed his brow at her.

"Don't see why they call you the Blond Bludger. I barely felt a thing," shrugged Charlie. "I'll have some of the bacon too, Gabby. It should be done by now."

Gabrielle did not truly feel that she owed Charlie another breakfast, but she took the plate with her anyway. It concealed the remaining stains on the blouse, and she didn't want to argue and attract attention.

When Gabrielle entered the kitchen proper, she found that the bacon was, indeed, done. It sat on a platter waiting to join the rest of the food in the buffet. No one was in the room. Gabrielle put a generous helping on Charlie's plate - that was bound to improve his opinion of her, she thought. He was a Weasley, after all. Gabrielle wished that Mrs. Weasley was there. She could clean the blouse properly, and would not make a fuss over the mishap. Not much of a fuss, anyway. Now Gabrielle would have to wait.

Of course, considered Gabrielle spying an apron, she could not really just sit and wait. Fleur or Maman would probably check up on her soon, or even Aunt Laurel since there were knives in the kitchen proper. The apron, envisioned Gabrielle, would cover the egg on the front of the blouse, and would imply that she had volunteered to help their hosts. Clearly a mature thing to do - a mature act by a young woman who thought of others besides herself. Gabrielle tied the apron on. It hung past her knees, and had a small, ridiculous embroidered pan on it which flipped an embroidered fried egg every so often. She took the platter of bacon and Charlie's plate, and went back out.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry sat on the bed in his room, fingering his wand. This had, he thought, for a few days at least, been the best summer of his life. Now it was all cauldron crud again. His scar ached and had burned sharply early this morning. All the magic he might do could not fix things now. In fact, it seemed to need the reverse. Was it possible, wondered Harry, that the best thing he could do was just to sit locked up in his room? While he had almost gotten Ron killed on a trip to Hogwarts for a few books, Percy Weasley had nearly killed Voldemort. Percy of the thin-bottomed cauldrons, who hated him, had gone up against Voldemort himself. That made Harry think. Did the Ministry still not know the contents of the prophecy? They, or at least the Prophet, had called him the 'Chosen One,' but if they knew the prophecy then they must have known they could not defeat Voldemort. Either way, Percy had been unexpectedly brave. No, Harry resolved, he could not just sit in his room. If people like Percy were  
willing to go up against Snake-face, then he would do everything he could to help.

That is, if he could do something without it turning into a losing hand of Exploding Snap. A simple shopping trip to Diagon Alley had turned deadly, and his friends, Ginny, had been hurt. That had kept him up at night, more than the horror of Bellatrix's end. Also, thought Harry as his eyes strayed to the package on the table, it had  
been expected.

Harry, though, had a plan that he was fairly certain would not be expected. It wasn't a very Gryffindor-like plan, but that didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. Ron didn't like it on principles, and Hermione didn't like on principles. Except the principles they used were completely different, so they almost cancelled out. Ginny liked the idea of the plan, which made Harry more determined to see it through. She thought it worthy of Fred and George. Harry still had not worked out if that had been high praise or a dire warning. The twins had built an empire starting from a few fireworks, but then nearly lost it over the love potion debacle. Which had Ginny been thinking of?

It wasn't like there was much to lose, though, thought Harry. Particularly after seeing the morning's paper. There was time too. He couldn't go to the wedding as himself; if Moody had his way, Harry wouldn't even be allowed to go at all. Attending disguised as cousin Barny meant staying concealed until most of the other guests arrived. Might as well not waste the day. The potion was finally done too. Ron's involvement had slowed the brewing, but Harry did not know if it was from his lack of skill, or the snogging. Harry moved to the table and poked around for his notes. Tomorrow, he pledged, he would clean up his room.

Harry read through the notes on the scraps of parchment and added another vow. Tomorrow he would get a new quill, as the current one was spotting badly. Harry cleared his throat and called, "Kreacher."

There was a loud bang as the old house-elf appeared. Harry was sure that the elf did it on purpose, as every other house-elf Harry had met apparated with no more than a polite pop. The house-elf, his skin flabby with age and sagging, was bent low in a bow. "Master," he croaked reluctantly. He continued sotto voce, "Lives like an animal he does, and the smell is wretched. My Mistress knew how to raise boys right. Then the nasty one betrayed his blood and my Mistress. Got what he deserved in the -"

"Shut up, Kreacher," snapped Harry. "Keep your mouth closed except to answer my questions. Or, er, if you need to breath." One had to be careful with house-elf commands.

"Mmmm mmm-mmm. Mmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm," hummed the house-elf, his lips clamped shut. Harry wondered if he should have waited for Hermione. He might strangle the elf yet.

"I am the head of the Black estate. Right, Kreacher?" asked Harry.

"Yes, Master," replied the house-elf, twisting the horrible rag he wore in his hands as if wishing it were Harry's neck.

"And you are magically bound to obey me, as long as I control Grimmauld Place, right?"

"Yes. Mmmm mmm mmm mmmm."

"But you think there is a better choice for the head of the Black family, don't you? The family motto was Toujours Pur?"

"The motto - is - Toujours Pur!" cried Kreacher, jerking in agitation. "The heir should have been Draco Malfoy, noblest scion of a great and ancient family!"

"I agree with you!" said Harry sharply, cutting off the house-elf before the creature began describing the ferret's 'supple alabaster skin' again. Some things were just wrong.

"Mmmm mmm?"

"Yeah. Draco, er, deserves it," said Harry honestly. Kreacher eyed Harry suspiciously. "There's a problem though. The fer- er, Draco is a servant of Vold-"

"Mmmm! Mmm mmm mmm mmmmm," interrupted Kreacher loudly.

"He's a servant of the Dark Lord, then, all right? And you do know the Dark Lord can't stay at Grimmauld Place, don't you?"

"It would be an honor! If only my Mistress could see it," said Kreacher.

"No, sorry. Toujours Pur, right? Your Dark Lord, he's half muggle. His father was a muggle and his mother was a witch!" declared Harry over the elf's moaning protestations. "Not the proper kind of Dark Lord for Draco to be trailing after, is he? What do you think?"

"Master is... must be mistaken," said Kreacher hesitantly.

"I'm not. I know more about Moldy-vort than almost anyone. I've seen both his parents in a pensieve; I know which muggle cemetery his dad is buried in. I - aargh," hissed Harry suddenly as the lightning-shaped scar flared painfully.

Harry's room faded from view, to be replaced by another bedroom. The scene careened rapidly; he felt panicked. This new room was almost bare, with lighter wood showing where furniture had recently been moved from. A corpse, it had to be a corpse, flayed of all its skin, spun slowly where it hung in thin air. Below it was a broken wand, his wand. A black-clad figure lay motionless on the floor. The roving focus moved to the bed, and Harry felt a surge of rage and hate at the sight of his own face, pale and fumbling, in the Prophet. For the briefest instant, now that he knew what to look for, there was a flash of silver. The Locket! There was no mistaking it. The old fool had told Potter after all. How was it possible for the boy to have retrieved it? Or was this Dumbledore's last curse? Lucius lost the Diary; Dumbledore had destroyed the Ring. Nagini had not survived the transfer. There was the Cup, but where was Wormtail now with it? Was the other still safe? He would have to make a trip soon, very soon, to -

Harry had fallen into a lake, the cold water taking him by surprise. He coughed violently to clear his lungs and flailed to get to the surface. No, the thought came to Harry, there is no lake. He was wet though. He opened his eyes. Kreacher stood over him with a bucket. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Master was having a fit. Kreacher wanted to... help," said the old house-elf with the barest traces of a grin.

"Right," said Harry sourly. He went over mentally the scene he had witnessed. Voldemort's wand was destroyed, but he clearly had another. Harry knew that was no advantage to him. He needed the protection of the brother wands. Voldemort had a body as well, which was bad, and he also knew now that Harry knew about the Horcrux. That wasn't good either, but Nagini was thankfully dead. Also, it seemed that Wormtail had the cup. And, Harry thought grimly, Wormtail owed him. The bit about the other bothered him. It wasn't Wormtail's arm then? If only Kreacher hadn't splashed him, then he would have learned where the other was. Thinking of Kreacher reminded Harry that he was wet, and not done with the house-elf. He drew his wand and dried himself and the floor. And the bed. And tried to dry the parchment of his notes, now all ink-smeared. "Er, where were we?"

"Master was having delusions about the Dark Lord," suggested Kreacher.

"No, what I said was the truth," asserted Harry. "Er, did you know that I sometimes see what he sees, can see what he's doing? That's what happened just now." Kreacher did not speak but rolled his eyes. "I can see you doing that, you know. And I have, er, seen the way the Dark Lord treats Draco. Night after night he punishes Draco," lied Harry. "I can hear him scream and, er, I can see him grovel. I - you all right?"

The elderly servant's eyes were unfocused and his skin clammy. "Kreacher is fine, Master," the elf mumbled. Harry considered conjuring a bucket of water as payback - Kreacher looked as if he would faint.

"So you see, we need to, uh, save Malfoy from the Dark Lord. As long as the Dark Lord can get at him, Malfoy can't have Grimmauld Place. Understand?"

"Is Master really seeing through the Dark Lord's eyes?"

"Yes. First we need to get Draco away, and make sure the Dark Lord can't find him. You will do that. Then I will, er, get rid of Voldm - okay, the Dark Lord. Once the wanker is gone, Draco can have the Black estate in its entirety," promised Harry. If any of this was at all possible, then that was nothing to give up. "With me so far?"

"Kreacher is... not certain. My Mistress liked the Dark Lord..."

"But he's not a proper Dark Lord in the first place! He's half-muggle for Merlin's sake! Anyway, both Sirius and Regulus saw through him." Whoa, thought Harry as Kreacher collapsed at Regulus' name, that's a bit of a sore point. Kreacher began pounding his head against the floor, shouting about being a bad elf. It was the surprise,  
rationalized Harry, that let Kreacher get two solid blows in. Nothing to do with the bucket.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle carried another plate from the kitchen proper, and set it on the sideboard. She wasn't sure why there were plates of food in the kitchen proper every time she went in, as there was no one in there that she could see. It did not make sense for Mrs. Weasley to hide each time Gabrielle entered. On the plate was something greenish in little pastry cups. She had seen something like them before at the Tri-Wizards Tournament at Hogwarts. It had not looked appetizing then either. And, they were so small! Gabrielle just couldn't picture any of the Weasley brothers daintily nibbling on them. A whole ham, perhaps, but not the sickle-sized servings.

No one noticed her. Wearing the apron was almost as good as the invisibility cloak, provided one did not protest when a used plate was pushed into one's arms, or the teapot. She had overheard many of the witches and wizards, the free-loading ones, speculating on the true number of Harry's victims. That seemed mean. She had overheard Bill and Charlie puzzle over a girl called Gigi who Fred had claimed was driving George nutters, mostly because Bill was very sure George was still seeing Mathilda Vane. Gabrielle even listened to her own mother remind her aunt that while Gabrielle had perhaps gotten the thin end of the wand when it came to looks, manners, and talent, her father believed that she would be a fine witch... someday. Aunt Laurel gave Maman a dubious look, and Maman had stressed the word someday a bit too much in Gabrielle's opinion, but it made Gabrielle feel better. Especially since Maman dumped their breakfast plates on her without recognizing her. That, realized Gabrielle, sort of defeated the purpose of wearing the apron. No one would know how selfless and mature she was being if no one saw her. It had to be that the apron had a charm on it. Gabrielle hurried back to the kitchen proper when she saw Mrs. Weasley return. Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle wondered if she had been caught.

There was another platter of food ready, full of what appeared to be small sausages with sticks stuck in them. A very peculiar item for breakfast in Gabrielle's opinion. She saw Mrs. Weasley hand up a small bundle of clothes to the top of the icebox.

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do at the moment, dear," said Mrs. Weasley in a soothing voice. "Now come out and tell us what is wrong."

"Yes, Mistress." Gabrielle recognized the voice - it was Geff, the old house-elf. He slid down the side of the icebox awkwardly, as he had to hold his trousers on.

"Er, yes, well. Geff was it?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes, Mistress. It is Geff." Gabrielle was surprised by his earnest tone. Why had he been so rude to her?

"All right, Geff. Now what happened to your tea towel?" Mrs. Weasley held up the item with the end of her wand. Gabrielle didn't blame her, it was not the cleanest-looking thing.

"Geff can only wear what the house Geff is bound to gives to." Geff kept a distance from the offered tea towel.

"Erm... I'm not quite following you," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes, Mistress. Geff is following you," nodded Geff.

"Geff," piped Hermione. "Are you saying you are bound to the Burrow?" The house-elf nodded again fervently. "Why? How did that happen?"

Geff ducked his head and pulled at his shirt. "Geff was left here by that bad Dobby. Geff had to sleep here and eat in this house. Geff was caught stealing food, so now Geff must serve the house," explained the elf miserably.

"Oh you poor thing," comforted Mrs. Weasley. She patted Geff on the head.

"Why didn't you go back to Hogwarts?" prompted Hermione.

"Geff did not know the way, and no one called for Geff."

"But you came with Dobby, right? So you knew where you had been?" tried Hermione.

"Geff didn't follow that Dobby! Dobby carried Geff off without so much as a, as a -"

"As a by your leave?" suggested Mrs. Weasley, who began fitting the clothes to Geff better with her wand. At least he didn't have to clutch at his trousers to keep them up now.

"Thank you, Mistress. Geff didn't see the steps here, so Geff couldn't do the steps back. No one called for Geff to show the way, and Geff was hungry."

"Well that's all just nonsense," declared Mrs. Weasley. "No one should go hungry in my house; I'm sure you don't eat much. You just calm down and we'll see about getting you back."

"Geff is a good elf, Mistress! Geff will work hard or Geff will use the waffle-press on his ears!"

"And no more of this mistress silliness either. Call me Mrs. Weasley please."

"Yes, Mis- sus Wheez-lee," replied Geff carefully.

"This is just awful! They have no control over their destinies at all!" complained Hermione. Gabrielle thought that made sense. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to order them around. It was an obvious thing. What interested Gabrielle more was that she was standing right next to Hermione, and the older girl appeared not to notice her at all. Gabrielle moved around Hermione to stand between her and Mrs. Weasley.

That turned out to be a mistake. While Hermione reeled off plans to free Geff, to the elf's obvious discomfort, Mrs. Weasley casually poked the towel into Gabrielle's hands with her wand. Gabrielle couldn't help herself, "Eww!"

Mrs. Weasley startled. "Oh! Gabrielle. I, er, didn't see you there."

"Yes," said Gabrielle. "Eh, I ran into Charlie, Mrs. Weasley."

"Is he here already? Oh dear, you don't need more of the Bruise-Be-Gone do you? I'm not sure there's a dollop left in the house."

"No!" said Gabrielle with some irritation. It was not like she had fallen on purpose. She untied the apron and pulled it off. "He, eh, spilled his breakfast on me." Gabrielle was comfortable with that. He had been holding the plate, not her.

"Ah, that's easily taken care of," said Mrs. Weasley with a look at the blouse.

"What about Geff?" asked Hermione.

"I'm sure you'll think of something clever, dear. He can stay for now; there's no need to distress him so. Geff, you will stay out of trouble, all right? There's too much going on today for anymore fussing."

"Yes, Missus Wheez-lee," said Geff. He bowed and disappeared with a pop. A second pop echoed from the top of the icebox.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry sat looking out the window, somewhat elated. That had gone, he decided, far better than he had any reason to expect. Kreacher's wailed tale of how he and Regulus had stolen the locket had surprised Harry. It hadn't made a lot of sense given Kreacher's subsequent betrayal of Sirius and the devotion to Mrs. Black, but house-elves seemed to have not only their own kind of magic but their own level of sanity. The revelation to the house-elf that he, Harry, had completed Black's last task for the elf resulted in a flood of gratitude. Passing on to Kreacher the locket that the two of them had left in the cave reduced the elf to blubbering pledges of loyalty. That made explaining the plan to snatch Draco a lot easier, although Harry took no chances and followed his smeared notes as well as he could read them when giving the instructions. Kreacher would find Draco, serve him until he could slip the potion into the ferret's tea, and then transport Malfoy to the prepared room at Hogwarts using the box from the twins. Kreacher hadn't even argued that he couldn't apparate with a wizard. Harry had emphasized that while Draco would appear dead, he really would be quite alive and would regain consciousness once the antidote was given, and then he could be given control of Grimmauld Place. He had counted on a lot more resistance when he explained that Draco had to be kept in that death-like state until Voldemort was gone, lest the Dark Lord sense him through the Mark, but the new bond with Kreacher left the elf just nodding his head. It was sort of unsettling how quickly Kreacher had changed, thought Harry, and how he trusted what was said completely. Harry sent the house-elf to Malfoy Manor anyway, to watch for and follow either Narcissa or Snape. When it came to magic, one never knew what would  
work.

Now, thought Harry as he pulled out a clean, or at least cleaner, parchment, how to find Wormtail...


	30. The Flower's Way

Chapter Thirty - The Flower's Way

The body of Ogden Dickinbottom lay on the bed, recovering from the jarring and unsettling news of the morning, and the magical exertions that resulted from them. The essence of Lord Voldemort within churned with thoughts and plans, like the molten lava beneath a dormant volcano. In a rare moment of introspection, Lord Voldemort knew he had been recklessly arrogant. The Diary had not really been protected at all, and Nagini, sweet Nagini, had been used more as a tool than a relic. He had done these things because he had felt that the Locket was so well protected, so well hidden. No one with an intact memory knew of his association with that cave, he was sure of it. How had Dumbledore stumbled upon it? The Locket was, had been, the core of his invulnerability, the Horcrux he had been counting on above all others. That had been, yes, a mistake.

A mistake, determined Lord Voldemort, that would be rectified. The Cup, carried by the errant Wormtail, would need to be hidden with special care and particular lethality if it were to become his new cornerstone. Using Dickinbottom's wand was a limitation though.

A plan leapt to the fore. Gringotts, a place only he had triumphed over even while similarly hobbled, would be its resting spot. He had leverage over Madame Malfoy, a thought that settled, oddly, in his groin, and a potions master at his disposal. Narcissa could deposit the Cup in the Malfoy vault without drawing attention; he would be  
able to add further protections in disguise using Polyjuice. Especially once he acquired a more powerful wand, one that would also allow him to make additional Horcrux. Perhaps even more than one.

The Dark Lord's spirits lifted. This setback only proved that he had been right so many years ago when he pushed past the silly fears of lesser wizards and created more than one Horcrux. He was greater than them all: Dumbledore, Grindelwald - Grindelwald brought him up short. Ollivander had wheedled his way out of immediate retribution by traipsing off after another phoenix, but his dry ruminations on wands and their history may prove useful. The wand-maker had recounted the long history of the legendary Death Stick, a wand of such power that anyone possessing it was nearly invincible. That the Death Stick was also referred to as mythical didn't deter Ollivander at all. He believed he had traced the wand's master past the time it had reputedly been lost. Ollivander believed that Grindelwald possessed it, and that it had allowed him to twist the destinies of nations.

It was certainly, considered Lord Voldemort, worth studying. Nearly invincible and nearly invulnerable would make him nearly the equal of Merlin himself. The destruction of Potter would get rid of the nearlys. But first: finding Wormtail.

v - v - v - v - v

By the time Madame Malkin arrived, most of the wizards and witches had been chased from the table by a dour Mr. Weasley. Several wizards had required coercion, possibly because of, harrumphed Gabrielle, Aunt Laurel's smiles and secret little waves. The departing wizards were supposed to provide security for the wedding. That left only immediate family members, the wedding party, and a few early arriving guests, who puttered about looking a bit embarrassed, in the kitchen.

Ginny didn't look too pleased with her wedding party partner. Archenhaud Rauphard II was tall, dark, but couldn't pull off handsome. He had been a classmate of Fleur's, and was very gawky still with lingering acne that was reputedly immune to magic. The fact that Fleur even acknowledged his existence had always amazed Gabrielle. Fleur had once said he was a visionary with color and form, but that only left Gabrielle wondering why he was dressed so oddly all the time.

Gabrielle's partner was Dinshaw Balsara, who she had heard of but not formally met. He was another schoolmate of Fleur's, a slight, brown young man from the subcontinent. His achievement in Fleur's eyes was his amazing grasp of studies and handwriting that was remarkably similar to hers. That last part was a secret, of course, and was the reason Maman did not know why that annoying bathroom mirror no longer hung level. Dinshaw was polite in his greeting, smelled of interesting spices, and ignored Gabrielle to follow Fleur with his dark eyes.

Gisselle definitely considered herself lucky to be paired with Charlie. He was the oldest, the most self-possessed, and the best looking in that very traditional, manly way. Scars were not a drawback. Gisselle twittered about him after they were introduced, patting his thick arms and giggling at what he said. Gabrielle knew Gisselle's English was very poor and she wondered if the girl knew what Charlie was saying. Not that Charlie was saying all that much. He seemed to appreciate Gisselle for the parts peeking out from her robes, if not for her banter. It was possible, thought Gabrielle, that neither was really listening to the other.

Fleur's bedroom was commandeered for the transformation, as Gabrielle thought of it. Hoped for, noted a second thought. More correctly, Hermione's share of the room was taken over, leaving Fleur's half just so. Gisselle, whose dress was of course fitted locally in France, went first. She must have noticed Charlie's gaze, as she tried to indicate to Madame Malkin that she wanted her cleavage accentuated more. Gisselle did this by manipulating her assets and saying, "Comme si, s'il vous plait."

"It'll take more than that. Charlie's idea of settling down is to live in the same barracks at the same dragon camp for two years running," whispered Ginny. Gabrielle nodded, but did not really care what Gisselle looked like as long as she didn't take a long time.

Fleur entered carrying a large, brown leather case. She took one look at Madame Malkin's attempt to pin the buttresses for Gisselle's desired cantilever, and declared, "I zink not, Madame Malkin. Zis ees not zat type of affair." Fleur crossed her arms in front of her, and said to Gisselle, "(Would you not prefer that he remember your eye color? Are you looking for another Duncan?)"

"What did she say?" asked Ginny to Gabrielle in a whisper.

"She is reminding Gisselle about an old boyfriend," replied Gabrielle. Whatever Gisselle had seen in Duncan, remembered Gabrielle, had not mattered to Fleur. Fleur had not liked him from the very start, and showed Gisselle how awful he could be. The warning had fallen on eyes blinded by love and ears deafened by promises, and it had nearly ended the girls' friendship. In the end, a pensieve borrowed from Madame Maxime and seeing her gifts to the oily Duncan sold to buy a gift to another girl finally woke Gisselle from her living dream.

"(But he is Bill's brother,)" protested Gisselle weakly. She sagged a bit and started pulling out the pins before Madame Malkin took over.

"(Yes, and he has noticed you. That is good, yes? You will spend most of the day with him, also. But when he dreams of you in his pathetic bunk in Romania, you will want him to think of the way you looked at him as you kissed, not the way you felt when he groped your breasts,)" advised Fleur. Gabrielle wondered if Fleur should be the one giving this lecture, given how warm her oven must be by now.

"(You are right, as always,)" agreed Gisselle. She added wistfully, "(A little groping might be okay...)"

There were several changes that were needed in Gisselle's dress. They were invisible to Gabrielle's eyes, which lead Gabrielle to believe that the alterations were done just because Madame Malkin and Fleur had not had a chance to make any. While the dress-maker set her needles flying with a wave of her wand, Fleur opened the leather case. It contained a vast selection of make-up covered in a gauzy net of shimmering blue. Fleur pulled out a scroll of parchment and said, "Gabrielle, I need your help.)" Gabrielle shrugged and moved over to Fleur, who was tapping her wand on the case and muttering in a strange language. The blue net slowly faded. "(Hand me that jar of neutral base cream,)" ordered Fleur. She stepped back as Gabrielle reached in. Gabrielle's hand stopped just above the requested jar, brought to a stop by a warning signal from the back of her mind.

"(Is it safe?)" asked Gabrielle.

"(Of course. It should be,)" replied Fleur. "(Gisselle, sit here. I will start your make-up. Let us see if Charlie can forget your eyes!)"

"(Eh, 'should be' and 'of course' do not mean the same thing,)" Gabrielle pointed out. What sort of game was this to play now?

"(Can you not just try and be helpful, just for today?)" demanded Fleur petulantly.

"(I am helpful. Always,)" insisted Gabrielle. It was such a stupid thing to say it did not count as a lie. "(Is the hex gone or not?)"

"Isn't this fun?" asked Ginny of no one in particular. "I am so looking forward to this afternoon. I should have nicked George's book."

"(A hex? It was a ward, you silly ninny,)" said Fleur. "(Give me the jar.)"

"Oy, Effy, what is going on?" asked Ginny.

"(Effy? Such a name,)" giggled Gisselle.

"You saw ze hex! Fleur, she wants me to see if it is, eh, finished," complained Gabrielle.

"Hex? It looked like a ward of some sort."

"Hex, ward - it does not matter!" Gabrielle stamped her foot in frustration, then regretted it. It was not good for her image.

"It does. You should know that by now. You will be starting school in the fall, and that's pretty -"

"Zat is not important! She - you - do you not see zat - never mind," sputtered Gabrielle. She stormed from the room. If they would not be reasonable, decided Gabrielle, then she would out-fox them . All she needed to do was to get the gloves from George. And, hinted a second thought, perhaps the whip.

v - v - v - v - v

It took a little longer to start back to Fleur's room than Gabrielle expected. She had rejected the notion of taking the whip, mostly because she did not know what to do with it. Gabrielle mulled using the knife from Gaston and the fish blade thing to frighten them, but decided that only Gisselle would be scared. Fleur would just get angry and Ginny would probably get annoyed. And, Maman would find out and take her things again. Using the little wand was also unlikely to earn much respect, unless she could convince them to stay still long enough for her to set them on fire. Still, sighed Gabrielle, it had been a fun series of daydreams.

Gabrielle also made a short excursion to the kitchen proper to retrieve the coffee beans, which she realized were not back in her trunk as she rummaged through it. Gabrielle discovered to her dismay that someone else had made coffee from them, probably while she was injured. This injustice was unbearable but, once more bemoaned Gabrielle, there was no way to mete out retribution. When she could use her wand, vowed Gabrielle, she would be putting, yes, wards on everything she had.

Gabrielle was, therefore, still more than a little grumpy when Charlie met her at the top of the stairs and said, "Hah, nice gloves there, Gabby."

"It is Gabrielle. I have said zis," said Gabrielle coldly. She held up a gloved hand curled into a fist and raised it up to him, showing the embossed letter. "'G' is for Gabrielle."

Charlie seized her hand. "What kind of leather is this? Is it - it can't be, can it?"

"Eh, what? It is ze Chinese Fireball. Eh, let go, eh, please."

"I've only seen one once, for the Tri-Wizards task. Look, you can see the scales have five sides - it's a good way to spot fakes," murmured Charlie. He rubbed his fingers along the scales gently.

"Oh, eh, yes, okay," nodded Gabrielle. She gave an experimental tug on her hand. Charlie held it quite firmly.

"This must be from the neck, and a female to boot - the scales are so small. Bloody shame to lose a potential breeder."

"Monsieur Lunky gave it to me. I did not, eh, request ze Fireball," explained Gabrielle, hoping that if he was going to get upset it would not be at her. This was, she decided, very awkward. Charlie had apparently forgotten that her arm was still attached to the hand that was still inside the glove.

"If I can catch the light right, I bet I could tell how old she was when they skinned her," announced Charlie. He bent his head over the leather on the back of her hand, and brought it closer to his intense gaze. Oh mon Dieu, thought Gabrielle. He is a lunatic.

"(Gabrielle! What are you doing?)" called Gisselle with shrill outrage. She peered out of the bedroom, holding a housecoat closed.

"Seventeen years. That should be damned crime, really," asserted the Weasley dragonkeeper. "You clean up nicely," he added with a nod to Gisselle after noticing her. He still did not give Gabrielle back her hand.

"(What did he say?)" asked Gisselle. Ah, thought Gabrielle, now it is okay for me to be here.

"(He, eh, said that you look even better than before,)" interpreted Gabrielle. That, or he thought she was dirty before. Gisselle did look better, especially her eyes. Someone must have tested the ward. "Let me, eh, go. Please," said Gabrielle. She added a kick to the shin, because that seemed to help the Weasley brothers hear.

It did not work on Charlie. It was like kicking a brick wall, and it hurt. Gabrielle stood on one leg, the toes on the foot of her other leg stinging, practically dangling from Charlie's grasp. He looked back to her. "Ha! Lucky thing for me I didn't take the splints out. We had a few Horntail dragonlings in camp. They're just learning what their tails are for."

Gabrielle wondered if dragons were treated like this. No wonder they were so mean. She decided to try a different strategy. Gabrielle put on a smile and, waving her free hand, ordered, "Release me!"

Charlie looked down at her again, slightly surprised. "You only had to say, Gabbers." He patted the top of her head after releasing the gloved hand. Said hand clenched back into a fist. Gabbers, steamed Gabrielle to herself. I wonder if he also has splints for his sausage-and-eggs.

"(Madame Malkin will be ready for you soon,)" said Gisselle. She moved to stand next to Charlie in such a way as to edge Gabrielle away. "(Please excuse her lack of manners,)" cooed Gisselle uselessly to Charlie. Gabrielle fumed. My lack of manners? It is my hand, not his. How dare she apologize for me.

Suddenly, as Gisselle sidled even closer to Charlie, Gabrielle understood. Gisselle was jealous, a realization that Gabrielle found both amusing and gratifying. That is, Gabrielle thought, ridiculous. She is welcome to that dragon-obsessed lunatic.

"What's she saying?" asked Charlie. Gabrielle tried to keep her face neutral, lest her evil grin give it away. Gisselle was welcome to chase Charlie all the way to Romania or wherever if she wanted, but Gabrielle did not have to make it easy.

"She, eh, said to forget zose, eh, boring dragons and look at her," said Gabrielle. That was probably what she wanted to say, thought Gabrielle, so it was not exactly a lie. She was just expanding on the motivations. A rationalization, labelled another thought.

Charlie looked at Gabrielle sharply. "She never said dragon. I know the French for that."

Of course you do, thought Gabrielle guiltily. "It is, eh, what she, eh, wants, perhaps?"

The Weasley brother turned back to Gisselle. "Dragons aren't boring," he said half to himself. "It's a good look for you, very 'ademenitor'," complimented Charlie. Gisselle looked over at Gabrielle suspiciously, but Gabrielle just shrugged. Charlie patted Gisselle on the cheek before turning to continue down the stairs, which made  
Gisselle's eye water.

Back inside the bedroom, Ginny had her arms up in the air while the squat dress-maker made some minute, superfluous adjustment. Fleur prodded Ginny's abdomen speculatively with a finger.

"I know zere eez more zan toast in zere," complained Fleur. "You will look like ze sausage you 'ave eaten."

"(Fleur! Gabrielle is using her Veela allure to steal my date!)" accused Gisselle.

"(I am not!)" denied Gabrielle.

"(She had him under her spell in the hallway! He didn't even notice me,)" whined the older girl.

"(What? He would not let go of my hand,)" countered Gabrielle.

"(You see? She admits it.)"

"(I admit nothing!)"

"Strange weather we've been having lately," added Ginny.

"(He was kissing her hand,)" blurted Gisselle.

"(You are insane! He was, eh, only looking at my gloves, eh, the leather,)" insisted Gabrielle.

"(Gisselle! Calm down and stop being stupid,)" snapped Fleur. Ha, thought Gabrielle. Even Fleur can see it. "(Do you really think you can not win against her?)" Fleur gestured toward Gabrielle as if she were a pile of owl droppings. The little moment of victory for Gabrielle fled.

"(You are right; I am sorry,)" apologized Gisselle to Fleur, who in Gabrielle's eyes was not the one deserving an apology. "(Oh Fleur! What will I do without you?)" wailed Gisselle.

"Cor, she's balmier than Lavender," muttered Ginny.

"(If you play the game as I have it planned, you will have a Weasley of your own and we will be together again... as sisters,)" soothed Fleur. Gabrielle's mouth dropped open. "(You mustn't give too much away too soon, and you must learn more English.)"

"(Yes, I can do that. I have a charmed book,)" nodded Gisselle earnestly. Gabrielle thought, meanly, that Fleur's double would make a good lap dog.

"(Do you have a book on dragons also?)" asked Gabrielle. She will need it.

"(No. We are not to encourage him in such childish things,)" recited Gisselle. "(Anyway, dragons: eeuw.)"

"This is about Charlie, isn't it?" asked Ginny. "What's going on?"

"Zey are -" started Gabrielle.

"(Say nothing about this, Gabrielle, or you will lose that little wand,)" threatened Fleur. "(I have learned ancient wards intended to keep pharaohs safe for an eternity. Believe me. You can pretend with... your boyfriend, but leave this to us.)"

Gabrielle's jaw dropped again. That Fleur should threaten her so boldly was, was, well, was pretty typical. But the scheme for Charlie just seemed wrong. Gisselle, in Gabrielle's opinion, should be learning how to care for dragon eggs or something instead of trying to end Charlie's fascination. And pretend? George was not her boyfriend, not really, but they had shared secrets. At least he had shared some. All it would take was a perfect moment. She didn't have to make him change, only to see.

"Tell me what they're up to, Effy. They are all my brothers, even Per- oh... damn."

"What eez zis?" asked Fleur.

"All set here dear," said Madame Malkin softly. "Umm... try to eat a, a light lunch, pet."

Ginny shook herself. "Oh, er, yes. Wait - what?"

"Sit 'ere Ginny. I will see what I can do wizz your face," gestured Fleur.

"Just leave off, will you? I'm not in the mood right now for that." Ginny pulled on the thin housecoat Madame Malkin offered.

"Step up here, dear," called Madame Malkin to Gabrielle, who climbed onto the stool.

Fleur circled Ginny, scrutinizing her. "Zee freckles are ze problem," she declared. "We would need to 'ide all of zem, or none of zem. Yes, you see? Ze blushing, like zat, would make ze cover show. Eet eez good zat your skin eez... okay. Ze brows and ze lashes, zey will be darker, un peu. And ze lips; eet will 'ave to do."

"You'll need to take these off, dear," reminded Madame Malkin to Gabrielle, plucking at her collar.

"Eh, right here?" asked Gabrielle. The dress-shop had been bad enough, but Gisselle was here now. Not that that should have mattered, but it did.

Fleur suddenly seized Ginny's head in her hands, and bent down to stare into her eyes. "You 'ave news of Percy?"

Ginny swallowed loudly. "Wh-what? What do you mean?"

"Your fazzer and William went to ze Ministry in ze middle of ze night to find 'im - zere is some concern, no? William 'as moved a picture of his brozzer from ze back, yet 'e will not speak of 'im. I am not stupid," whispered Fleur. There was a soft glow around her eyes, as if a beam of sunlight had fallen across them.

"He's, he's dead," breathed Ginny. "Killed in a fight with You-Know-Who himself." She pulled weakly at Fleur's arms.

"(Fleur? What is wrong?)" asked Gisselle.

"(Fetch your book,)" ordered Fleur. "'Oo else knows? Why 'ave you not spoken?"

"Harry, Hermione, Ron, Longbottom," recited Ginny. Gabrielle cringed in expectation. "And Gabrielle. We didn't want to bugger the wedding."

Fleur leaned in and kissed Ginny full on the lips. "Zat you would do zat for me - I am 'appy. I would 'ave waited for ze mourning zough, for William."

"(Monsieur Moody knows also, and now Mr. Weasley,)" supplied Gabrielle. Ginny looked dazed. What had Fleur done to her? Was this, wondered Gabrielle, something she would be able to do too?

"And Madame Malkin, now, I zink. Eet will remain ze secret," said Fleur. She drew her wand. "One way or anozzer, yes?"

"There's no need for that. I'd not have a business if I repeated all the gossip I hear," said Madame Malkin stiffly. "Get on with it, dear," she added to Gabrielle.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape hurried away from Malfoy Manor deep in thought. Worried thought. The Dark Lord was alive, after a fashion. The reward for the forethought and effort to pull that off was the usual one of not dying in agony. The lack of remuneration did not upset the former professor much. That which he had sought most had been lost; forever lost to him. Atonement, in some small measure, was all he could really strive for. A ridiculous notion at that. The hedges lining the walk suffered for his rumination. They, encouraged by magical fertilizer, were already becoming unkempt after the loss of the house-elves. The shrubbery was at least shorter after he had passed.

The problem was that the Dark Lord was already very aware of the limitations of Dickinbottom's body, and would be planning a return to a corporeal vessel of his own. Snape had expected that. Indeed, he had planned on guiding the selection of the loyal, and unfortunate, servant so as to make Bellatrix obvious. With Bellatrix likely beyond their reach, it seemed obvious that the Dark Lord would allow him the honor of losing a limb. While Snape knew he would make a darkly ironic choice for the role of the most loyal follower, he also felt that the Dark lord would be unwilling to commit the same blunder twice. First, however, Snape would have to hint that the cross-species nature of the first body had actually been a blunder, making it unexpectedly weak. The Dark Lord would also need to see that Pettigrew, while willing, had been more of a contaminate.

It would be more difficult than it could have been. That healer, Shastry, that Bellatrix had killed had a fascination with the idea of chimeras. He was quite adept at them, based on his pets, which were the outcome of his illicit experiments. Shastry had explained, rather numbingly, that certain potions combined with very fine wand work and a grounding in 'in vitro' muggle medical procedures allowed him to create his pets in a single generation. He hadn't really followed the talk of nuclear bodies, mitosis, and other muggle mumbles, remembered Snape, only that it was useful for blackmail material. Now Snape could see the outline of a plan for a body for the Dark Lord which would not, as it were, cost an arm or leg. A plan that would leave the Dark Lord in debt to Draco. Perhaps not enough to 'reward' him, but enough to forgive. A plan that was potentially moot without Shastry's expertise. A visit to his widow would need to be made. Hopefully the Indian had kept a research journal. In the meanwhile, there was time to check on Draco.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle stewed on Hermione's bed. She stewed, fumed, and plotted the downfall of her enemies. Gabrielle had dreaded the reattachment of the pink goose eggs, both because it really stung and because the larger audience made it even more embarrassing. She had been right to do so. Fleur and Gisselle found the shapeless blobs very amusing, particularly Gisselle who out-bulged Fleur in that department. The initial pinch for alignment by Madame Malkin was made worse by Fleur peeling the magical mammaries off, painfully, to adjust them, because the dressmaker had to then also remove the prosthetics and again realign them. It all left a lingering ache that made even the slightest tease and the endless giggling grate.

At least Ginny, who had been left to recover after Fleur's confrontation, had been quiet. When Fleur began concentrating in earnest on the shape of Ginny's eyebrows, Gisselle went back to ignoring Gabrielle and pulled out her book. It was the paperback of the English edition of the "Guide to the Lesser Languages" series, which was published by the French Ministry of Magical Culture. The department published the charmed phrase books to provide revenue for their great work, spelled out in the magical version of 'la loi Toubon', of updating spells from the Latin base to proper French. There had not been much progress.

Gabrielle's plots had mostly centered on surprise magical attacks with her little wand using horrible hexes that she would get Hermione to teach her. It was, Gabrielle thought, fun to dream of, but ultimately stupid. If she did anything today, Maman would not count, sigh, and lecture, but would take everything away - her wand, her knife, her school. No, sighed Gabrielle to herself, she would just have to be the silent, pathetic victim once again. She would have to bide her time. And kill some time: Fleur looked like she was adjusting the length of Ginny's eyelashes one by one. Gabrielle picked up a thick book piled carelessly on Hermione's pillow. The worn cover was titled "There and Back Again - A Port-key's Tale." It was full of bookmarks. Gabrielle opened it at one of the bookmarks, and her eyes began watering almost immediately reading the smudgy, dim text. If she wanted to be like Hermione, realized Gabrielle, she would have to work up to it. Gabrielle closed the book and looked around for one that was thinner.

Gisselle was not making much headway with her book, noticed Gabrielle. She would not marry Charlie, no matter how feminine her wiles were, if she could not speak to him. Realizing that, thought, gave Gabrielle an idea. She could not make their skin look like mouldy bread, but she could disrupt the older girls' plans. Yes, thought Gabrielle, she could interfere, and she wouldn't need to risk the wand or the knife. It was so obvious: she would give Charlie the whip from Monsieur Lunky. He would be thrilled; Gabrielle was sure of it. And when Gisselle whispered into his ear something like, "Was not the ceremony beautiful?" Gabrielle bet Charlie would then say, "Cor, look at the bloody scales. It bloody must come from the bloody withers, or the bloody gathers." Or some other strange part of an animal. Gisselle would try hanging all over him until she was driven to really say, "Forget the dragons you idiot. What about me and my breasts?" Then, imagined Gabrielle, Charlie would look deep into her eyes and say, "Oy, how about that Gabrielle? She is a most wonderful young woman. I wish I had not called her Gabbers before." Gisselle would burst into tears and run to Fleur, who would stare in horror at the crumbling ruins of her manipulative plans. When Fleur realized that it had been Gabrielle who had foiled her, she would -

"(Gabrielle! No more of zat cackling, if you do not mind. I'm trying to concentrate here,)" barked Fleur. "Your eye eez watering, Ginny," she complained to her subject. I don't cackle, thought Gabrielle.

"'Course it's bloody watering! I haven't blinked in a half an hour," groused Ginny. "What are you doing?"

"I am making yours eyes parfait, of course," explained Fleur.

"Why?"

That seemed to surprise Fleur, but she did not pause in her task. "Everyzing should be parfait, no? I like eet zat way."

"(Eh, I just, eh, remembered something I, eh, forgot to do,)" announced Gabrielle. She gathered the too-long housecoat provided by Madame Malkin into her hands.

"(Sit!)" ordered Fleur.

"(It will not take, eh, long.)"

"(It will not take long for you to fall down the stairs or such and to need Madame Pomfrey again, is what you mean. Stay here or I shall use my wand.)" Gisselle giggled at the exchange.

Gabrielle sat down heavily on the bed. When her grand scheme lay smoking at her feet, promised Gabrielle, Fleur would come to know that it was this sort of treatment that caused her downfall. She would rue the -

"(Please, Gabrielle, enough. Zat gives witches a bad image,)" admonished Fleur. Gisselle laughed into her hand.

v - v - v - v - v

Fleur finished up Ginny's eyes, and the redhead fairly jumped from the chair. Gabrielle sat down in the vacant seat for her turn and, while Fleur was turned away, picked out a lipstick color. It was a very pretty pink. Gabrielle felt it would work well with the gold dress.

Fleur turned back and looked at Gabrielle curiously. "(What is this about?)"

"(Eh, I, eh,)" stumbled Gabrielle. "(I need make-up too, do I not?)"

Fleur laughed hard. "(Please, you are just a little girl. It is not appropriate.)"

"(I am eleven! I will be starting at Beauxbatons in the fall! I am not a silly little girl!)"

"(Oh Merlin. Put some on her, Fleur, if only to quiet her. She is always causing a scene,)" recommended Gisselle.

"(You don't need to tell me that,)" said Fleur emphatically. She plucked the tube of lipstick from Gabrielle's hand. "(You must be joking. You truly want to be in the circus?)"

"(What? I, eh, think it is a pretty color,)" said Gabrielle defensively.

"(Today we are enhancing our natural beauty, not playing the 'silly buggers',)" said Fleur. What, wondered Gabrielle, was that supposed to mean? "(Pucker,)" ordered Fleur.

Gabrielle did so, and was shocked when Fleur's fingers grabbed her lips and pinched, hard. Gabrielle yelped and tried to pull away, but she was trapped in the chair. Fleur had her wand out before Gabrielle could knock her sister's arms away.

"Petrificus Totalus," cast Fleur with a smirk. Gabrielle went rigid.

"Oy! What was that for? There's no reason to treat her like that!" interjected Ginny, getting to her feet. Gabrielle could not agree more; really she would, though, if she could. Ginny stopped when Fleur's dangling wand pointed her way.

"Ze color for ze lips, eet eez to be as if one eez, 'ow you say... aroused. Zis will make zem like zat. I will zen select ze correct color," explained Fleur. "She did insist, yes?"

"Erm, yes, I suppose," acknowledged Ginny. "But blimey -"

"She eez in ze wedding party. Eet eez to regret, I see now, but she must look good," interrupted Fleur.

There was a rapid knock on the door. It was Mrs. Weasley, looking somewhat frazzled. "If it's all right dears, I need to borrow Mimi for a bit. There's some, er, confusion with the boys' outfits," explained the Weasley matron with a strained smile.

"She is not finished 'ere, Molly," said Fleur.

"Erm, yes. I suspected as much, and I wouldn't dream of taking her away, except, er, well, Bill and Charlie are starting to, er, duel, and that poor Archenhaud, well he -"

"What?" cried Fleur jumping to her feet. The room seemed to shrink.

"Nothing serious, nothing serious," placated Mrs. Weasley. "He'll be fine. Just, er, if Mimi was there this might get, erm, settled a bit sooner." The floor barely shuddered, and a distant boom was heard. Mrs. Weasley lost her smile.

"Not to worry there, Molly. I've brought my special pins along. They'll keep those little blighters still 'til this gets sorted," said Madame Malkin. "Boys never change, only the length of the pin needed."

"Eef eet were not bad luck, I would see to zem myself!" hissed Fleur. "Please, Madame Malkin, attend ze men. And tell zem I am not 'appy!" Her hair seemed to twitch in agitation.

"Now, now, calm down. There's no reason to get so upset. Just more pieces to put on than they know how to," said Mrs. Weasley. "Er, is Gabrielle all right?" No, thought Gabrielle, I am hexed. Again.

"Who cares? We are running out of time!" complained Fleur.

"'allo Meesus Weasley. Ze weath-air est, is nice... today," smiled Gisselle.

"Uh, right, right. Well, we'll be back quick as a snitch, I promise," said Mrs. Weasley backing out of the door. Fleur did not answer, but bent back over Gabrielle, who was rigid. If she could, Gabrielle would have pushed her away. Fleur had picked the ugliest color - it looked like it was made from blood. What was wrong with a nice pink?

Fleur flourished her wand again. "(There. That will prevent you from smearing yourself.)" She moved back, sighed, and looked around unhappily, her long hair swirling. "Ginny, move Gabrielle, if you please. I will begin my make-up now."

"Aren't you going to lift the spell?" asked Ginny as she levered Gabrielle over to the bed using her head as a handle.

"Eet will wear off soon enough," dismissed Fleur.

v - v - v - v - v

Fleur worked on her make-up until Madame Malkin returned. At least, Gabrielle supposed that Fleur did, since she was leaned stiffly against the bed the wrong way to see. It was just as well, thought Gabrielle, since she would have stayed angry if she could have seen her tormenter. Now she was just bored. Ginny could have been more thoughtful on where I was propped, moped Gabrielle. She could have tilted me toward the window.

Madame Malkin's first task on returning was to assure Fleur that Bill was perfectly fine, then that the outfits were not at all damaged. She explained that Dinshaw had caught the two brothers unawares before any real spells had been cast, using ancestral rope jinxes. Archenhaud was still upset, reported the dress-maker, but the others all said that his face had looked like that before. The conflict had begun over whether the pleats on the cummerbund pointed up or down. Madame Malkin had adjudicated that dispute, adjusted all the ascots and cuffs, and reminded them that shaving was required. Gabrielle wondered if she had needed her pins.

Fleur set to work on Ginny's and Gisselle's hair. Gabrielle found it somewhat odd from what she overheard that both girls were far more concerned about their hair than Fleur was, given the fussing over the make-up. Fleur just wanted to keep the hair out of the eyes she had worked so hard on. Gabrielle wondered if that was because Fleur rarely needed to do anything with her hair to make boys long to touch it. Which was pretty creepy, now that Gabrielle thought on it. Gabrielle's hair, so Fleur had said, lacked presence. It would be better with the colors in it. That thought brought the little bottle from George to mind, and how she didn't really know how she was to  
choose the colors. She would probably need a wand. Which, thought Gabrielle, would give her a chance to get the whip for Charlie.

Gabrielle could tell when Fleur put on her wedding gown. There were sudden intakes of breath, heartfelt oohing, and Madame Malkin was bustling about frantically. That fact that Fleur remained silent, thought Gabrielle, must mean that the dress was fine. Probably more than fine - she had wanted perfect.

"Will you wear a veil?" asked Ginny.

"Moi? Non. Eet eez traditional for ozzers of Veela blood to wear ze veil," replied Fleur. "Zat way ze eyes, zey are for ze bride. Wizz zis dress, zough, I do not zink I will 'ave zat problem!"

"Yeah, I can see how that might do it, least for wizards," agreed Ginny. "Hey, will Effy wear a veil then? She's part Veela."

"Mmm? , Oh, I do not zink we would need to bozzer wizz zat for 'er," laughed Fleur lightly. "Can you find your mozzer? She 'as ze tiara for my 'air, I 'ope."

"Sure, if Aunt Muriel has arrived with it. You think we would have heard her."

"Can you find ze colors for Gabrielle's 'air, also? Zey should go in before she she gets dressed, so she does not make a mess," added Fleur. It's going to be a long day of casual slights, thought Gabrielle.

"Er, I don't know where she keeps that. Can you cancel the spell on her? Since the Fidelius is down I can't use my wand."

Gabrielle hated this part. It's impossible to brace oneself if one can't move, and no one ever thinks to hold her upright. She landed with a thump when the Fleur cancelled the spell. That entertained Gisselle. It would be Fleur's fault if she had a bruise, although what she had bruised was unlikely to be seen.

"I have ze colors here," she told Ginny, and fished out the bottle from her pocket. "Eh, I zink I need ze wand to choose ze colors." She looked at the liquid. Had it separated? It was hard to tell.

"You can choose the colors now?" asked Ginny. "That's cool! How do you do it?" She went to the bed and pulled out her wand from her back pocket. Does no one listen to Monsieur Moody, wondered Gabrielle.

"Eh, I am not sure," admitted Gabrielle. The note had been sketchy on that.

"(Give it to me,)" ordered Fleur. Gabrielle held it closer. It was hers, from George. "(Now please. I have experience with these things.)" Gabrielle wasn't sure that was true, but Fleur wasn't going to give her a chance to argue and took the bottle from her hand. It would serve Fleur right if she shook it.

Fleur held her wand over the stopper and concentrated. Gabrielle found herself holding her breath. With a tap on the bottle, Fleur asked, "(How many colors?)"

"(Eh, the paper said there could be up to three,)" answered Gabrielle. "(I want a bright blue, an emerald green, and a yellow. I will braid the colors together.)"

"(That's nice. Very ordinary,)" said Fleur as she pulled the stopper.

"(Hey, what are you -)"

"(Fireball scarlet; sparkling gold; scarab beetle green,)" called out Fleur, the tip of her wand in the now frothing liquid.

"(That was mine!)" shouted Gabrielle angrily.

"(Yes, but it is my wedding. It will make people forget your elbows.)"

"Oh Fleur, you are... um, correct. She eez funny," said Gisselle uncertainly.

"(Gisselle! You are doing so well!)" gushed Fleur. She turned back to Gabrielle, "(One color at a time will be best.)"

"(I don't want those colors,)" whined Gabrielle. "(You have ruined it.)"

"If the two if you are going to be like this all day..." muttered Ginny.

"(Then it is too late, yes? Put your hair up, I will make it even,)" said Fleur as if she had won. And, thought Gabrielle as she gathered two bunches of hair, Fleur had won because she had the wand. That would be different in a few years, and Fleur would come to regret this. It did not take much of the liquid to color the two locks of hair either, which meant it really was wasted. Fleur should have poured out what was needed into another container, realized Gabrielle as she secured the locks to hold back the rest of her hair. There had been at least two applications there.

A minute later, while Gabrielle was squirming back into her bridesmaid dress, Fleur suddenly blanched and gasped, "Oh non! Non! Non!"

"Oh Merlin," breathed Ginny, her hands to her face.

"Yes, all right. The key, ladies, is not to panic," advised Madame Malkin briskly in a way that made one feel that the panic had already begun.

The hairs went up on Gabrielle's neck and she dove for the mirror. She stared in wonder.


	31. Fleur de Mariage

Chapter Thirty-One - Fleur de Mariage

Gabrielle ignored the commotion behind her. Fleur was shouting threats against the twins, Ginny was wrestling for the wand, and Madame Malkin was alternatively shouting that there was no need to panic and panicking over the risk to the wedding dress. Gisselle was uselessly wringing her hands. Gabrielle calmly pulled over one of her gloves and held it to her ear. The treated locks were a little darker and more textured, but they were definitely scales. They even, noted Gabrielle, had five uneven sides. Poor Gisselle will simply explode, since there was no doubt, thought Gabrielle, that Charlie would want to examine her head closely.

"_Impedimentia!_" shouted Fleur, sending Ginny tumbling and Madame Malkin scrambling after her. "Zey swore zat zey would do nothing! I will -"

"Don't!" screamed Ginny from the floor. "Fred and George always booby-trap pranks. If you try to fix it, something worse will happen."

"'Ow can eet be worze? Look at 'er! Everyzing eez ruined!" wailed Fleur. She burst into tears and fell to her knees. Gabrielle didn't think things were ruined. It wasn't what she had wanted, but it was kind of cool.

"Ah!" exclaimed Madame Malkin, appearing at Fleur's side. "Let's get you to a chair, pet." She smoothed the writhing, white material of the gown as she helped Fleur to the bed instead.

"Zey are the worst, zat Fred and George. Zis is zeir fault," declared Fleur. She stood back up. "I need to find Molly. She will make zem set eet right!"

"(Their fault? This is your doing,)" accused Gabrielle. "(I wanted blue, green, and yellow. Anyway, it is not so bad.)"

"(You are only saying this because of your pathetic crush. You look ridiculous,)" insisted Fleur.

"(I always do when you choose things for me,)" returned Gabrielle. Old habits and all.

"(How can you say such things?)" demanded Gisselle. "(This day is important for Fleur. Why can't you let her be happy?)"

"(I have done nothing! She is the one who hexed -)"

"_Silencio!_" barked Fleur, cutting off Gabrielle. Does no one else, wished Gabrielle, have a wand they can use?

"Fleur! Just, just stop, will you? I'll get Mum," pleaded Ginny.

"Ze photographs, eet eez almost time," said Fleur wildly.

"I'll get Mum, but I'm not leaving if you're going to hex Effy again," warned Ginny. Gabrielle basked in this show of loyalty from her coven sister, who was turning out to be a better sister than her actual sister. Now if only Hermione was here, thought Gabrielle. With her wand.

"I say. What eez ze nom Effy for 'er?" asked Gisselle. Ginny didn't answer, but hurried out of the room.

It didn't take long for Ginny to return with her mother, but it was long enough for a new crisis to evolve. The color 'sparkling gold' showed itself as glowing strands of the metal that spit sparks. It was very distracting and more than a little alarming, particularly when Gabrielle realized that the smell of smoke was coming from her - her hair had set itself on fire. It didn't help that it seemed to take Fleur and Gisselle forever to understand her pantomimes.

Mrs. Weasley arrived with Ginny, and trailed by Geff who carried a tray set for tea. There was also a glass with sherry on the tray. That was handed to Fleur right off; she burst into tears again. Gabrielle hoped this was only Fleur's reaction to weddings. While Fleur sobbed, Gabrielle began to smolder again. Mrs. Weasley kneaded her forehead as if in pain before looking up with a smile.

"That's a bit flash, don't you think, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley to Gabrielle. She patted out the spot where a curl of smoke rose from Gabrielle's head.

Gabrielle mouthed the words, "It is Fleur's fault." She pointed in case Mrs. Weasley did not understand.

"'Allo Meesus Weasley!" chirped Gisselle. "You look very 'ealth. Cheerio! 'Ay what?"

"Er, thank you, er. Ginny, what in Merlin's realm is going on here?"

Ginny explained the situation, casting it as some sort of misunderstanding with the instructions instead of properly blaming Fleur for everything. Gabrielle's hair changed again, and it was as she feared. Whole beetles with iridescent carapaces clung to the sides of her head. Worse yet, the insects waved their heads and antenna in unison. The scales, thought Gabrielle, were good, the sparks were fine until she started smoking, but this was awful. The last thing she wanted to be remembered as was the girl with bugs in her hair. That is, the young woman with bugs in her hair.

So Gabrielle was very pleased when there was a tapping at the door followed by Hermione stepping in. Gabrielle was confident that her mentor would try to help with this problem instead of also trying to calm Fleur. To make sure, she mouthed, "Hermione! You must help me."

Hermione looked her over before pulling out her wand. "_Finite Incantatum_. If this is about the beetles, then I'm sorry Beebee, I agree with Fleur. They have to go."

"What? Fleur, eh, is ze one who put zem in," said Gabrielle.

"Really? I'll admit I'm not exactly current with the latest in wizarding fashion," shrugged Hermione. "Looks like something Luna would try."

"It is ze colors, from George. And, eh, Fred. Fleur took it and, and, and now it is ruined," explained Gabrielle throwing up her arms. "And ze sparks, zey, eh, burn my hair. You will see."

"Sparks?" asked the older girl. Gabrielle just nodded and folded her arms across her chest, which felt really odd to her because of the enhancements.

"Oh, Hermione, dear. I'm so you turned up. Er, can you sort her out?" asked Mrs. Weasley coming up beside the girl. "I really should see to the seats and... What is that on your neck?"

"Nothing!" blurted Hermione, jumping to stand behind Gabrielle. She pulled her bushy hair forward over her shoulders.

"Hmmph! Nothing, eh? I was young once too. I think you'll be 'revising potions' in the kitchen from here on, young lady."

Gabrielle twisted around to look at Hermione, trying to see her neck. Hermione was quite pink, and didn't answer Mrs. Weasley. Instead, her coven sister took out her wand and started diligently tapping each of the beetles.

Mrs. Weasley turned to leave, muttering something about the Burrow turning into one big broom closet. Geff followed, pausing to wag a finger at the two of them. Ginny snickered, which, except for blushing again, Hermione ignored. Fleur turned her wand on her own face as Gisselle consoled her.

"Can you fix it?" asked Gabrielle. The scarlet scales had come back.

"I don't think I can change them, if that's what you mean," replied Hermione. "Was this another of their prototypes?"

"It did not say, ze paper."

"I really wish they gave more thought to the consumer; the twins I mean. Especially with a product that isn't intended to be a prank. The scales don't look too bad, though."

"No, zis is okay. But ze ozzers are, eh, not good."

"Hmm. Well, you may have to live with it. Let's wait for the, er, sparks. There are some fire-proofing charms we could try." A silence fell.

"Eh, what is on your neck?" blurted Gabrielle, since she still could not see it. What could be so upsetting?

"It's really nothing," huffed Hermione.

"I know what it is," lilted Ginny teasingly. Hermione cowered as she approached.

"It's nothing," repeated Hermione, hunching her shoulders.

"It's a little love-bite from Ron," whispered Ginny theatrically to Gabrielle. "Too bad all the Bruise-Be-Gone is used up."

Gabrielle wondered if that remark was intended for her. She decided to ignore it. "Eh, what is zis, eh, love-bite?" Gabrielle whispered back.

"It's a bruise from, erm, hard kissing. It's like a crup marking his territory," explained Ginny. Gabrielle goggled. She had been bitten by a crup before and couldn't see anyway that such a thing could be called a 'love-bite'.

"It's not. It is not uncommon for monogamistic tribal cultures to, um, mark bonded pairs," recited Hermione.

"Same thing. Do we want to know what Ron got?" teased Ginny. Gabrielle did, but only a little bit. It might be gross. It might be really gross given that Hermione had taken notes from the book. Fortunately for Hermione, Gabrielle's hair started sparking and she was soon smoldering again.

The authority on tribal culture tugged the locks free from the clips. "Well, there is a way out, I'm fairly certain." She pulled the metallic-looking strands straight out.

"Anyzing, 'Ermione. Eet eez a disaster," called Fleur. Of your making, added Gabrielle. She would need to make sure that Fleur, and not herself, was blamed for this.

"I wouldn't try anything with something the twins set up," warned Ginny. "You never know what the side-effects might - Hermione!"

"That's one," announced the love-bitten witch. She held out the still sparking, golden lock of hair. A still sparking, golden lock of hair that was no longer attached to its owner. Gabrielle stared at it in shock, her hand going to the now vacant spot automatically. Did Hermione really just do that?

She had, and Gabrielle's delayed reaction allowed Hermione to slice off the other lock as well.

"Oh Merlin! Hermione! Oh Merlin!" fretted Ginny, her hands pulling her own hair.

"(Why did you do that?)" cried Gabrielle. "(Have you lost your senses? You, eh, you - I can not go out like this!)" Her perfect moment was slipping away, and this betrayal by her sister-witch was making her eyes prickle.

"Calm down, the both of you. The, erm, treatment didn't go all the way to the roots, so I could cut it there. I can grow it back; I am a witch you know."

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione was a witch, thought Gabrielle, but George and Fred were wizards - two wizards to her one witch. The fuzzy patches left from Hermione's butchery did regrow. She was able to return them to their original length, but they didn't stay their original color. The two locks turned Weasley red to the roots, and stayed Weasley red. At least so far. Gabrielle had actually expected scaly beetles that sparked, or even horns that smoked and stank of sulphur. It was not bad; Gabrielle liked Ginny's hair. It was just a bit more, well, ordinary than Gabrielle had wanted, had needed. No one thought it was a good idea to try to use the other prank she had on the locks, and Fleur forbid using that anywhere else at all because it was from the twins. It was yet another plan foiled by her thoughtless sister.

The photographer had arrived shortly after that to take carefully staged candid photographs of the bridesmaids pampering Fleur, or appearing to worship her. Gisselle was a natural at that; Ginny was not. It was awkward at times. The photographer was a round-shouldered wizard about the same age, Gabrielle guessed, as her father, with hair that was straight and black and ill-suited for the mustache he had. He would arrange then in precisely calculated, casual positions around Fleur, duck under the camera's hood, and call out for them to smile. Then would come the long pause before someone reminded him to actually take the picture. He had tried several times to get Fleur into a pose where she was leaning forward. The glare Fleur returned was like a physical slap to him. That, thought Gabrielle, was definitely something she wished she could do. Maybe if Fleur had done something with my eyes, sighed Gabrielle to herself. Without the changing colors she did not feel like she was shining. Would George - that is, would anyone notice anything but her knobby knees?

Mrs. Weasley returned with the auror Alastor Moody in tow. The idea that Fleur should not be seen before the wedding for good luck had somehow become a plan where the bride and her retinue would be disillusioned and led down to the sitting room before finally slipping to the waiting staging tent in the confusion following the intentional collapse of the tent over the dining tables. Gabrielle thought that Monsieur Moody had some very strange hobbies. To her surprise, Fleur seemed incline to indulge him. It all seemed like a waste of effort to Gabrielle. On the other hand, came a second thought, being disillusioned could be very useful. They would have to move silently if the auror's plan were to work. She could slip away, completely unnoticed, and retrieve the dragonhide whip for Charlie. That would put in motion the plan to wreck Fleur's and Gisselle's scheming.

Except, realized Gabrielle, how would she conceal the scarlet whip? It was not like she had pockets in this dress, and it fit her form much more closely that what she normally wore. While Mrs. Udderly's creations formed a cavity at her front, Gabrielle doubted that even Poisseux would fit there. Gabrielle thought she could possibly tuck the leather item up under the draping charm at her rear, but then extracting it would be an embarrassing proposition. It was clear this plan needed some work.

v - v - v - v - v

Walking while disillusioned, decided Gabrielle, was much harder than walking under the invisibility cloak. One could not see one's feet, and of course the others were disillusioned as well, so it was hardly her fault that she kept stepping into Ginny. Gabrielle was sorely tempted to try and slip away, having come up with a way to hide the whip, but then she remembered that the box George had given her was gone as well. She frowned at that, realizing that many of the things George had given her had already been used up or ruined. Anyway, suspected Gabrielle, Monsieur Moody could see through the spell. At least, he had pointedly looked at her while she was making faces at where she thought Fleur might be.

The group slowly made its way down to the sitting room, and then out the front door of the Burrow, circling around to the back. Gabrielle paused to watch the diversion for a moment. A large white canopy was bucking up and down on its poles like an enraged horse while house-elves clung screaming to the guy ropes that had once held the tent down. More redheads than she had ever seen before surrounded it in a noisy crowd. It looked perfectly awful for the little elves until one stopped screaming, somersaulted onto the top of the canvas, and then slid back down to the rope it had held. Then it went back to shrieking. The auror prodded her with the end of his wand to get her moving again. She was sure George and Fred were over there somewhere.

The tiny, tall tent, not much bigger than a wardrobe, was set where the procession would begin. It was, of course, much larger inside, and, to Gabrielle, it smelled vaguely of dog. There were cushy chairs waiting inside, and even snacks. Gabrielle wondered if Fleur would allow them any. Maman was there, along with Aunt Laurel. Gabrielle's father stood by the table with the drinks. Another figure stood next to Maman, completely concealed by cascades of sheer fabric that flowed from a boxy hat. The effect reminded Gabrielle more of a haystack than a gown.

Monsieur Moody canceled the disillusion spells, and politely greeted the women before going to the door to launch a small fireball out the door. The haystack turned to watch him and whispered, "(Mmm, now there's a real warrior.)" Gabrielle recognized that voice. It was her Grandmere under all that fabric.

"(Fleur... you are so beautiful, so beautiful.)" wept Maman. She pulled out a handkerchief and went to hug Fleur, along with Aunt Laurel.

Gabrielle wondered if she had misunderstood the whole wedding thing. It was, essentially, a party, was it not? She didn't recall so much crying from other weddings she had attended before with her family. Gabrielle stepped up to her grandmother, "(Hello Grandmere! How are you?)"

"(Oh, it's my little bug,)" said Grandmere warmly, using the despised diminutive. "(And, look here! It must be the water.)" A delicate, pale hand with only the merest hint of wrinkles snaked through the curtains of fabric and patted Gabrielle's faux bosom.

"(Grandmere, please,)" complained Gabrielle fending off the hand. Mon Dieu she is embarrassing. "(Eh, why are you dressed like that?)"

"(It is because I am of Veela blood. I was told that the English are especially susceptible.)" She turned to glance at the old auror again. "(But look at you! So much prettier than usual. And you have bloomed! It is not much, though, but it is a start.)"

Gabrielle knew to change topics as it would only go downhill from here. Prettier than usual - ugh. She could only imagine Grandmere's reaction if she found out about the pink goose eggs. "(Have you seen Fleur's dress?)"

"(It is exquisite. I can hardly believe she found something like that outside of Paris,)" replied Grandmere in a honeyed voice.

"(It was made for her at a dress-shop on Diagon Alley,)" explained Gabrielle.

"(That is nice. I have never had a problem finding clothes,)" said Grandmere. "(The red in your hair does nothing for you.)" She kissed the top of Gabrielle's head and went to Fleur.

Gabrielle watched as her grandmother joined the cooing crowd around Fleur. It came to her that the mix-up with the book her Grandmere had given her would soon be discovered. Gabrielle wondered where the book actually was as she went back over to the tent flap to see if she could see George. Or Fred. Monsieur Moody was still blocking the opening.

"Where do you think you are going?" asked the auror sharply, turning one eye at least toward Gabrielle.

"Eh, I wanted to see ze crowd, only" replied Gabrielle nervously. She tried a smile on him, and wondered if the Wave of Command would work. He did not, after all, have red hair.

"My job," growled Moody. He turned away from her. "You can look for your accomplices later."

Gabrielle decided he didn't deserve a smile. Many awful things happened yesterday, but almost none of them were her fault. "You are worried about Madame Pomfrey?" she asked half seriously, half mockingly.

Both eyes snapped to her. "I'm worried about dozens off Death Eaters seeking revenge for that bit o' fun you all had yesterday," replied the auror harshly.

Gabrielle scurried away. Fleur probably wanted her for something. Hopefully.

v - v - v - v - v

The flower Gabrielle held gave her a high-pitched buzz of a raspberry, which caused Gisselle to giggle again. More precisely, the little fairy kneeling in the center of the white rose gave her a high-pitched buzz of a raspberry. The tiny creature was wearing a few wisps of white fabric, an homage to the bride and the bridal gown, supposed Gabrielle. It was the kind of detail Fleur liked to fuss over. Gabrielle didn't like fairies all that much. The ones Maman brought in to decorate Delacour manor at Christmas would always sneak pulls at her hair when she was younger. That was before Philippe introduced her to the muggle slingshot. Gabrielle was not good with it, unlike her friend, but the near misses were sufficient to cause the fairies to hover near the ceiling when she was near. The process had to be repeated each year with the new batch of fairies, but, smiled Gabrielle at the thought, Philippe did say practice was important.

Unfortunately, Gabrielle had neither Philippe's slingshot nor the thick, ugly blade on the knife at hand. Gisselle was tickling her fairy; Ginny had flicked hers in the head with such quickness Gabrielle had almost missed it. Both of their fairies were quiet, although only one was happy. "Eh, Ginny? You can, eh, eh, fix, a little, mine also? Please?" She would do it herself, but fairies could bite. She thrust the bouquet toward Ginny.

"Line up. It's almost time! Line up," called Mrs. Weasley, clapping her hands. "Come on, you know what to do."

Yes, thought Gabrielle as the fairy made faces at her, I know what to do. She would go first, walking at a stately pace down the aisle with Dinshaw. At the end she would go to the left, wait for the others, sit, blah blah blah, and then follow the others back in reverse order. After that would be more photographs, probably worshipping both Fleur and Bill. It didn't seem like much considering all the work and anxiety.

"Oh, you all look so wonderful," sniffed Mrs. Weasley. "Wait for the music. I've got to get to my seat!"

At least now, standing at the entrance to the tent, Gabrielle could scan the crowd. She couldn't really make out the twins from the back among the knots of red hair, and suddenly realized she wasn't really trying to find them. With a start, Gabrielle found herself trying to pick out Matty. Which was, thought Gabrielle, silly. George did not want her, he had said so. Hadn't he?

Monsieur Moody had left a short while ago. At least, Gabrielle thought he had. He had disillusioned himself before going, or , perhaps, not going. She had anyway not bumped into him while pacing about the tent bored, hungry, and wondering in annoyance why there was a table full of snacks there if no one was permitted to eat them except Papa. Gabrielle could see her grandmother seated near the front quite easily. She was very conspicuous still because of all the veils. Gabrielle could also see that Maman and Aunt Laurel had donned veils as well, but only ones that went just past their shoulders. Ron was easy to see, as he was coming around the seats with a large, steel watering can. It took Gabrielle a moment to recognize the women following him as Hermione. She had done something with her hair. No, reconsidered Gabrielle, she had done quite a lot with her hair. It was no longer bushy at all, but was sleek and extravagantly curled. With a jealous pang, Gabrielle wished she had done that to her own hair.

Hermione paused and sprinkled something on the ground from a small canvas sack. She called to Ron who stopped short, water sloshing onto his robes. Gabrielle wondered if the twins had taken his wand or such. There had to be a reason he wasn't using it. From where Hermione had sprinkled and Ron had sloppily watered, came a profusion of flowers, growing rapidly. A second, closer patch was soon catching up. The sunflowers already stood at least two meters tall, and were impressive even before they started to hum like basses. In fact, noticed Gabrielle, all the flowers were starting to hum. They even seemed coordinated, like a little choir. Gabrielle could even make out a melody, it was -

"Go on Effy. He's waiting," said Ginny with a small push.

"It is Gabrielle. 'G' is for Gabrielle," Gabrielle added automatically, earning her a roll of the eyes.

Dinshaw was already waiting, standing in the late afternoon sun, in what looked like the result of a muggle tuxedo and a wizard's robes splinching together. It was nearly all muggle for the top, except for the way the sleeves widened from the elbows to robe-like openings, but where the jacket ended at the cummerbund, the wizard-style robe carried on. The ensemble was light blue, Beauxbatons blue, with a darker piping at the edges. Gabrielle was very glad for the conventional cut of her dress, and that whoever had thought that up hadn't had time to help with it.

Gabrielle and Dinshaw, and her irritating little fairy who could, thankfully, not be heard above the music, started down the aisle. It seemed much longer than she knew it to be. Expectant faces turned to the pair, taking them in, then turned away to look back the way they had come. Except for one red-haired wizard in dark, flowing velvet robes dotted with silver somethings. Gabrielle had found George, and she radiated a genuine smile at him. Gabrielle also noted the woman with dark, luxurious hair beside him in burgundy robes trimmed with the same blue-black velvet that George wore. Matty, thought Gabrielle; she is not so much. Her nose is too prominent, she has too much make-up on, and her cleavage was definitely magically enhanced. Overly magically enhanced, revised Gabrielle as a traitorous thought reminded her of her own. Gabrielle further decided, based on the set of the her jaw, that Matty was very pushy and demanding. The woman's carefully sculpted eyebrows were another clear sign, to Gabrielle, that she was just not compatible with George, at all.

Matty noticed George's gaze. Gabrielle tried to interpret his expression as adoration, but decided she was kidding herself. Surprise was good enough. Matty turned her head to follow George's eyes. When she saw Gabrielle, her eye's narrowed to an evil, pig-like squint. In Gabrielle's opinion, at least. Then Dinshaw gave a sharp pull to put Gabrielle back on course as she had been veering to the side in her scrutiny of her rival.

"(It is this way,)" whispered Dinshaw. "(Look where you are going, please.)" Gabrielle felt her face heat up and concentrated on stopping the blush instead of answering.

Gabrielle set aside thoughts of Matty when Ginny arrived to stand next to her. The older girl had apparently tired of Gabrielle's bouquet fairy as well, or, guessed Gabrielle, she was bothered by the way Gisselle clutched so tightly to Charlie the whole way down the aisle. Whatever the motivation, Ginny lashed out with quidditch-honed speed to flick the little fairy into silence. Unfortunately Gabrielle shifted at the same moment. Ginny's finger caught the tiny creature full in the face, and it tumbled backward from its floral perch. Gabrielle managed to catch it before it crashed to the ground, then tried to nonchalantly wedge the fairy back into the center rose before the action was noticed. Most everyone was watching for the appearance of Fleur anyway. A closer look showed that the fairy was bleeding from its pert, little nose. Gabrielle knew she would have to find Hermione before it was time for photographs again, before Fleur and Maman could see.

Gabrielle managed to compose herself before there was an unexpected bang, causing shouts of shock from the shaken crowd and a billowing cloud of smoke. When it cleared, Bill stood next to the podium in a black-on-black version of the groomsmen's outfit. Gabrielle could see that Bill carried it off much better than the slight Dinshaw, the weedy Archenhaud, or his clearly uncomfortable brother Charlie. The cravat and the cummerbund seemed a constant source of agony to the best man. Gabrielle wondered if Madame Malkin had left in her special pins.

The arrival of the groom was Hermione's cue, and Gabrielle could see the teen tending to the flowers. These burst out the jouncing trills of Follaffiner's "Witch's Wedding" theme from his opera "Three Envies." It was a very common choice, sort of traditional, and Gabrielle was surprised Fleur had not chosen a more trendy piece.

It may have been, considered Gabrielle, because Fleur knew no one would really be listening. When she appeared at the end of the aisle with Papa, she smiled broadly, and everything seemed more colorful, more right, in its glow. Every eye was drawn to her - mouths hung agape, wizards twisted in their seats and craned their necks. Monsieur Moody and Tonks followed the bride's stately procession slightly behind and along the outside of the seating area, their wands busy quieting and restraining the growing clamor. Gabrielle wondered if Monsieur Moody had been a wise choice for this task. A portly wizard on the auror's side was reseated with sufficient force to collapse his chair entirely. No one around him bothered to notice though.

Fleur seemed to take forever to reach the front. There was an awkward moment when she did, as Papa did not want to let her go. Gabrielle startled at her mother's blistering, hissed ordered, which her father instantly obeyed. He seemed to regret it once he realized what had happened, but by then it was too late. Fleur and Bill stood together in front of the podium.

Standing on the podium was an ancient wizard in plum-colored robes. Gabrielle had not seen him arrive, and doubted that anyone seated had either. The wizard's eyes were nearly opaque with age. Remembering the photographer, Gabrielle felt that was likely to help speed things up. He wore an elaborate silver 'W' on his chest - Gabrielle wondered if he didn't like nicknames either. There was a small gray dove on the old wizard's shoulder also. That, thought Gabrielle, was interesting. She tried to work out if it was a pet, or if the wizard had not noticed it because his eyesight was so poor.

It was a pet, decided Gabrielle after watching it intently. It hadn't flown away when the officiating wizard brought up his arms. More tellingly, the wizard, who droned on for quite a while, didn't shoo it away when the bird pecked his head. In fact, Gabrielle was sure the little dove was helping to face the wizard properly as he addressed Fleur or Bill. A peck in front of the ear turned the wizard's head slightly one way, a peck behind the ear, the other way. This was fascinating, thought Gabrielle. Did he have calluses on his head? If he went to a quidditch match, would he start bleeding? Or could he have the bird switch shoulders? What if he needed to look up or down?

A conjured red ribbon momentarily concealed the little dove, and it diverted Gabrielle's attention. The ribbon was made from a shiny, glittering cloth, and fluttered down to wind itself around Bill and Fleur's clasped hands. It was the Sash of Binding, recalled Gabrielle, and that meant the ceremony was finally almost over. The elderly wizard tottered down from the podium to stand with the wedding couple - peck, peck, peck. He raised his wand and looked like he was about to speak when Fleur interrupted him. Gabrielle couldn't hear what was being whispered, but the old wizard looked very surprised. A confused murmur went through the crowd as the wizard, Fleur, and Bill discussed something. There was much fervent nodding on the couple's part until finally everyone in on the conversation was nodding. That seemed to include the gray dove, although, thought Gabrielle, that could have been just a coincidence.

The wizard raised his wand to his throat, then held it out over the joined hands. "Do you, Fleur Isabelle Delacour, take this wizard - body, spirit, soul - to be your husband and swear your love, your loyalty, and your faithfulness to him for as long as you both do live?"

"Oui, I swear," said Fleur throatily. More crying, thought Gabrielle, seems imminent. Isn't this what she wants?

The wizard's suddenly booming voice had quieted the susurration from the crowd, but the emergence of a thin jet of red flame from his wand brought forth gasps and quiet exclamations. The twisting line of red fire wrapped itself around Bill and Fleur's hands. Like another Sash of Binding, thought Gabrielle.

"(Did you know of this?)" whispered Papa urgently.

"(Hush Henri. She has always been such a romantic,)" replied Maman.

"Do you, William Arthur Weasley, take this witch - body, spirit, soul - to be your wife and swear your love, your loyalty, and your faithfulness to her for as long as you both do live?" Another jet of flame was produced.

"I swear it," declared Bill loudly. The new flame wrapped their joined hands.

The wizard conducting the ceremony raised his arms to quiet the crowd. "Settle yourself," ordered the wizard in his magically amplified voice, "or I'll have this court cleared! Er, that is - just be quiet." He moved his wand to the flame-wrapped hands again.

"Do you, William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Isabelle Delacour, both swear to cherish and provide for the magical issue -" Bill interupted the wizard; a brief, low discussion ensued.

"Do you," began the blind wizard again, "William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Isabelle Delacour, both swear to cherish and provide for, uh, any and all issue from this union?"

"I swear it," declared Bill.

"I swear eet," added Fleur with a hiccup. Yet another curling line of red joined the others. These declarations also drew whispers from the crowd. Gabrielle wished she could just turn around and ask her parents what the excitement was. She had not seen the red fire before at either wedding she had been to, but, thought Gabrielle, it was basically the same as the ribbon. Of course Fleur would want something fancier.

With a wave of the wand, the conjured ribbon and snaking lines of fire were gone. "Erm, are we doing rings today? I've quite forgotten. Oh, blast," boomed the ancient wizard before tapping his throat again. Bill turned to where Charlie stood nearby; Charlie returned a blank stare. Bill nodded at him, Charlie still stared. Bill lost his patience and reached into his jacket. His brother and best man gave him a grin and reached into his own jacket. Then he reached into the other side of his jacket before putting on a look of horror. Gabrielle wondered if Charlie knew that Fleur's glares could hurt. Perhaps he did, or perhaps he really did not want to try Bill's wand because when the groom reached for it again Charlie grinned once more and pulled the rosewood box from his sleeve.

Fleur and Bill exchanged rings after first casting long spells on them. It wasn't very interesting, so Gabrielle went back to watching the dove steer the old wizard back to the podium. There was some evidence on the back of his ornate, plum-colored robe of the drawback to having a bird on his shoulder constantly. Gabrielle was trying to see how the wizard told the bird where he wanted to go. She figured she might be able to see his lips move if he were whispering to it. Or, she would be able to see if his shoulders moved in some sort of complicated code.

Once back on the podium, the wizard hefted a thick book onto the stand before him. He pried the tome open to the bookmarked page, waited for his avian companion to guide his hand to the right spot, and then set to work with quill and ink. Finishing, he tapped his throat again with his wand. "By the authority granted me by the Covenant of Wiltshire of 1692 and slightly amended by the proceedings of the International Confederation of Wizards of 1750, and acknowledging the interference of the Crown, I have entered the bride and groom's particulars into the Registry of Magical Marriage and Other Odd Unions. I present to you Mr. William Arthur and Mrs. Fleur Isabelle Weasley!" Applause burst from the crowd, so Gabrielle clapped as well. This wasn't how weddings in France went, recalled Gabrielle. Kind of a let-down at the end, in her opinion. The wizard added, "You can go ahead and kiss her, you lucky bas -" He winced and used his wand on his throat.

Fleur performed a small brisé into Bill's arms, landing with a swirl of silvery blond hair and wispy fabric. They looked into each other's eyes for just a moment before Fleur rose up on her toes with her head tilted just so to meet Bill's head bending down. It was a long kiss, thought Gabrielle. She didn't think it was gross, but Papa did not like it much based on his disapproving grunts. There were 'oohs' and 'oh my's' from seated onlookers. When the two finally did separate, nudged apart by the renewed blare from the flowers, Fleur was smiling brightly even as tears rolled down her cheeks. Bill looked unsteady, and needed a gentle shove in the back from his brother to get moving.

Bill and Fleur made their way back up the aisle, nodding at the well-wishes from the enthusiastic crowd. When the newlyweds were halfway back to the little tents, Gisselle reattached herself, lamprey-like, to Charlie. Gabrielle felt sorry for him - not because he had to listen to Gisselle but because his neckware was clearly getting the best of him. Ginny made a comment about it being as close as the slag would get, but Gabrielle had turned her attention to the important task of locating Hermione. She did not know how much time she would have to get the blood-encrusted face of the fariy cleaned, and she was now a little worried that the tiny pest hadn't woken back up.

Ginny was just leaving with Archenhaud when the auror Moody reappeared from under his disillusion. He beckoned Mr. Weasley away from his wife for an urgent whisper. It did not look like good news.


	32. Behind the Scenes

Chapter Thirty-two - Behind the Scenes

Gabrielle moved to stand next to her escort, Dinshaw. They needed to wait for Ginny and Archenhaud to reach the halfway point of the aisle before proceeding. Not that we are anything but an afterthought at this point, thought Gabrielle. Her function now was simply to mark the end of the ceremony. Dinshaw, Gabrielle suspected, was thinking this as well. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself. She hoped it wasn't because he was disappointed about being stuck with her and not Ginny or Gisselle, because she remembered that he might have his wand with him. Certainly he had a place to carry one in his, eh, tuxe-robe. Or should it be robe-xedo?

"(Eh, Dinshaw?)" started Gabrielle. She smiled disarmingly at him - always a good ploy according to Maman. "(Do you have -)"

"(It is because of my stature that I could not win her,)" announced Dinshaw. "(I was born to a low caste. Only when my magic manifested was my family promoted to the Kemal, the magical caste. In my early years I was often hungry - it left me small.)"

Gabrielle was taken by surprise at the outburst. "(Eh, yes. That is very -)"

"(I have left Beauxbatons with honors, and received three job offers from the Ministry in Paris, but I can not overcome my physical limitation,)" declared her partner bitterly. "(She is so perfect)" he added wistfully.

Okay, thought Gabrielle. Now may not be the best time to ask him for help. She tried to keep a little ahead of him, to encourage him to speed up. Once they reached to end of the aisle, she would have an excuse to leave him.

"(And she has made the Unbreakable Vow,)" muttered Dinshaw miserably. "(I can not now lure her away with my future wealth or achievements, for it would kill her even as she finally took me to her heart.)"

"(What do you mean?)" asked Gabrielle before she could stop herself. He wasn't making sense and it was probably not a good idea to draw his attention.

Dinshaw looked at her with some surprise, as if he had forgotten her. "(What?)"

"(You, eh, said Fleur would die,)" clarified Gabrielle.

"(Fleur has sworn unending faithfulness, as befits her perfect love. Nothing less could be expected. To love another, even if he was more worthy and devoted, will cause her to sicken and die,)" explained Dinshaw. He sighed heavily as they neared the end of the seats. "(I suppose I will do as my family hopes and marry Priti.)"

Gabrielle nodded politely. They were almost there.

"(Priti,she... she loves me, you know,)" said Dinshaw. Gabrielle nodded sympathetically. Sympathetically and, she hoped, with just enough disinterest that he would go away and pine miserably for Fleur elsewhere.

Gabrielle had to stay with the brown-skinned little wizard until they re-entered the staging tent. Bill and Fleur were luxuriating in the former groomsmen tent. And, thought Gabrielle, they were probably being, eh, incorrigible as well. The rest of the wedding party was here, not really luxuriating at all. Someone had taken the snacks away sometime during the ceremony, the beverages were gone also, and it still smelled like dog. Dinshaw went and stood with Archenhaud. Ginny stood next to Charlie, and stared hexes at Gisselle, who was not likely to leave Charlie's side unless there were actual hexes used. Gabrielle stood... by herself. Now it was her turn to sigh.

v - v - v - v - v

The photographer collected the wedding party after a long wait. A long, uneasy wait, at least for Ginny. Charlie, Gabrielle noticed as she really had nothing else to do but watch the Weasley drama, eyed Gisselle's ample charms appreciatively, but was largely indifferent to the girl. That is, until he noticed how agitated Ginny became every time the maid of honor sidled closer. Then, to Gisselle's delight and Ginny's annoyance, he found any number of opportunities to touch Fleur's double, to brush his fingers along her hair, or to whisper into her ear. Gabrielle would have been fooled into thinking that Charlie had fallen for Gisselle also, except she alone could see the slow burn he did over Gisselle's head each time she re-tightened the cravat at his neck that he would only loosen again. The game being played by Charlie was keeping Gabrielle entertained, it was true. But, niggled a second thought, it was also somewhat mean to both older girls. Ginny was having a bad day, what with losing Harry's company, remembering Percy, and having to be near Fleur. This additional teasing was a little harsh. And, suspected Gabrielle, Gisselle was probably too hopeful, or too deluded, to see through his charade. Gabrielle knew, just knew, that George would not lead a girl on like that. Unless, came the traitorous second thought, it was to help Fred by dating Matty.

That line of thinking was quickly forgotten when they arrived at the mossy grotto by the spectacular waterfall that created a veil of mist where a rainbow glimmered. It was really quite nice, thought Gabrielle. Since she could clearly see the Burrow, it was also quite magic. Gabrielle was pretty sure that the tall tree was the one she saw Hermione's weasel, or whatever it had been, run up. Her little fairy, cleaned up and cheered up by Archenhaud, who had conjured a tiny bouquet for it, was quiet.

Bill and Fleur were there already. Fleur stood on a rock at the edge of the plunge pool, the wispy, writhing fabric of her gown fluttering to the side in a magic breeze, revealing glimpses of her legs. Her silvery-blond hair streamed away from her beaming, smiling face. Bill knelt below her with his hand outstretched towards hers, enraptured. As a pose, thought Gabrielle, it was quite over the top.

"(It is like my sketch has come to life...)" whispered an awed Archenhaud. He was the only one who had continued approaching the couple besides Ginny and Gabrielle. "(If only Ramone could see this.)"

Gabrielle looked back for the others. Dinshaw and Charlie stood rooted to one spot, along with the photographer. Possibly they were drooling - it was hard to tell but very likely with their tongues hanging out like that. Gisselle had been waving her hands in front of Charlie's face until he pinned her to his side by her neck with his thick arm. Gabrielle was torn between being upset at the pathetic reaction of the men, or being upset at Fleur flaunting the fact the she was so much more than Gabrielle could hope to be.

"What a crowd of oiks," groaned Tonks, detaching herself from the tree she leaned against. "Time for a rude wake-up, right?" She flicked her wand, sending a wide yellow arc into the group. They jumped back, and rubbed their arms as if stung. Poor Gisselle, thought Gabrielle, though the sight of the girl also shaking off the spell made her feel better, then guilty.

"Oh hey Tonks," greeted Ginny. "That's a neat spell."

"Yeah, an' you can use it on muggles because they always think the elektics have gone mad," said Tonks. "Helpful if you can't avoid the Tube."

The photographer begged Fleur and Bill not to move, and fumbled his tripod into place. The flash only went off after Tonks took aim at his protuding backside with a spell that had a report like a firecracker. Whatever he is being paid, thought Gabrielle, it is not enough. Then she wondered if the battered photographer was being paid at all. Fleur could have him enthralled, though Gabrielle doubted Bill would approve of that.

There were many different pictures taken, with every combination of wedding party members and bride and groom. Pictures with Fleur always took longer since Tonks needed to prod the photographer each time using her wand. The auror, her pink hair lightened with streaks of blond, knew a lot of spells that shocked, pinched, and stung. Gabrielle was already tired of posing by the time Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and her parents arrived to create new combinations. Most of the shots were formal group pictures, but a good many were the pointlessly conceptual things that made sure one knew they were modern. The worst had the bridesmaids arranged on rocks just beyond the pool's edge, surrounding Fleur on her central rock with upraised arms. Gabrielle was placed behind Fleur, further out in the water. She noticed that she was placed in the background for preference when there was a choice. Apparently her padding, sniffed Gabrielle, was not good enough for her sister. It was, she suspected, her knobby knees and bony elbows. Of course, what made it the worst was that Gabrielle was becoming really very hungry, and had spots in her eyes from all the flashes. That, and her rock was the smallest. The smallest and, she would maintain, the slipperiest.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle sat on a conjured stool, miserable and dripping. Fleur insisted that Madame Malkin be summoned to dry the gown; Geff had been dispatched to find her. Gabrielle studied the stones at her feet carefully, to avoid catching anyone's eye. She was sure the flash had gone off, meaning the embarrassing moment she had slipped and toppled, arms windmilling, backwards into the water would be available for Fleur to drag out anytime Fleur felt she needed to be humiliated. The water had not been deep, but too many wands had levitated her up and, in the confusion, dropped her in a second time for a thorough wetting. There was probably a photograph of that as well; the kind of unposed, candid shot they had pretended to do earlier. Gabrielle sighed. She was ridiculous again. The others had laughed so hard; the little fairy had flung the tiny bouquet at her and flown away. Ginny had doubled over with mirth, and had to step off her own rock to avoid falling. Her coven sister then helped her up out of the water and the two of them squelched to dry land. Somehow it was okay to let Mrs. Weasley dry Ginny's shoes. Gabrielle's still noisily squished out water, which is why she was sitting. Sitting, and trying to be invisible lest Gisselle reenact her rare moment of clumsiness for Fleur's, and Tonks', and Ginny's, amusement again. Gabrielle didn't think she had screamed like that.

A cooing noise caught her attention, but Gabrielle ignored it. She planned on staying in a foul mood until someone dried her. The call repeated, and this time the small gray dove from the old wizard's shoulder hopped into her narrowed field of view. Probably the same dove, corrected a second thought. They all look pretty much the same. The bird took a look at the stones Gabrielle was contemplating, which meant it was able to gaze at Gabrielle at the same time. If it is the same bird, thought Gabrielle, then what has happened to the wizard? Did their peculiar arrangement allow for scheduled breaks? After all, post owls still want time off for hunts. Gabrielle wondered if the little dove could understand speech like a post owl. She glanced around cautiously, checking to see if anyone was near. She did not want to be caught talking to some strange little bird.

"Eh, hello," whispered Gabrielle furtively. No sense taking chances. "You are ze bird from ze ceremony?" The dove bobbed its head, then hopped with a fluttering of wings to perch on Gabrielle's knee. Its tiny talons were no more than a tickle. "Eh..." What did one talk to a bird about? Gabrielle couldn't come up with anything, so she settled for stroking the short feathers on its head. The dove seemed happy with that, cooing contentedly, but Gabrielle was a bit worried about how the old wizard would get around.

Madame Malkin arrived in short order, and promptly shooed the bird away as she quickly dried Gabrielle before trying to cook her with steam from her wand. "Oh stop whinging - the wrinkles have to come out. It's your own fault you know. It's a dress, not a swimsuit," responded the dress-maker to Gabrielle protests.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle, so freshly pressed her skin still prickled from the heat, was not immediately needed for the photographs. At the moment, the parents of the bride and groom looked like they intended to use Fleur as a maypole, albeit without the actual ribbons. The photographer kept emerging from the camera's hood to try and get the reluctant dancers to adopt less sheepish expressions. Whatever he is getting paid, thought Gabrielle, perhaps it is too much. She made her way over to the auror Tonks, who was chatting with Ginny. Ginny appeared to be engaged in the conversation but Gabrielle was not fooled. She could see Ginny was keeping an eye on Gisselle. The maid of honor was, in turn, trying to regain the monopoly on Charlie's attention. Gisselle had lost that when Madame Malkin noticed him laying in the grass, relaxing. The squat witch was berating the best man. Gabrielle suspected that she was trying to get him to submit to a steam attack as well.

"Wotcha Beebee," said Tonks. She took aim at the photographer again, but he pulled his head out to plead for more enthusiasm.

"It is Gabrielle," said Gabrielle half-heartedly. Tonks had always been friendly, so it wasn't too bad to be addressed that way.

"Is that the best you could do with your hair?" asked the auror. "From all those colors, couldn't you at least have had the fashion sense to choose pink?" She grinned and ran her hand through her own spiky hair.

"I did not get to choose!" burst out Gabrielle. "Eh, I don't want to talk about zat."

"Least you're dry now," smiled Ginny.

Gabrielle glared at Ginny, willing rays of stinging pain to shoot from her eyes to the girl. It did not happen. "I do not want to talk about zat eezair. "

"Yeah, I can see that, but, er, you know, it's bound to come up again," warned Ginny.

Gabrielle ignored that. "Do you know what Monsieur Moody wanted with Mr. Weasley?"

"What's this?" asked Ginny, interrupting her Gisselle watch.

Tonks studied the two girls for a moment. "Look, this isn't something to go spreading around, right? You two are up to your necks in it, so I guess I can tell you. Jenkins found an old muggle, way inside wards. Dead. Your father said he was a neighbor, er, Tully Tiltyson."

"You mean, Tiltonson? Oh no! What did he die of?" asked Ginny anxiously. Gabrielle didn't think she was up to her neck with anything like this. On the other hand, noted a second thought, it was a little cool to be thought of as being part of Harry Potter's crowd - even if she hadn't really done anything.

Tonks shrugged. "'Not a healer. Your Dad said he had a bad heart, and the old man had his hand clutched to his chest when he was found."

"Do you think it's You-Know-Who?"

"I don't know. Doesn't seem like it - only the anti-muggle wards were set off. It's just really strange, you know? There's not one in a hundred muggles that will even put a foot past the simplest ward, and he had collapsed after passing through all of them," replied Tonks. "It must have been the stress that did for him."

Gabrielle tried to think of something to say. She had only asked the question to move the topic of conversation from herself, and had really expected the old auror to have some complaint about George and Fred, or Harry. But this, thought Gabrielle, was awful. That poor man - why had he done that? And poor Mrs. Weasley, too. This was another tragedy she would have to be told about.

Another tragedy. That thought stuck in her head, and Gabrielle started to feel cold. How many deaths had she heard about in her short time in Britain? Not just heard about, either. How, wondered Gabrielle, can Maman and Papa have agreed to let Fleur have the wedding in this dangerous place? Not that the Burrow itself felt dangerous, of course. There were travel restrictions, remembered Gabrielle, but would not a smaller wedding be better if it were safer? Gabrielle knew the answer to that one even as she thought it. Fleur would prefer as much attention as possible, danger or no. She had been a TriWizard champion for the adulation.

v - v - v - v - v

Who, wondered Gabrielle, is a wedding for? She was standing between her mother and Gisselle, greeting and welcoming wizards and witches she did not know and who did not care to meet her. What a chore, she thought. Gabrielle noted that the well-wishers fell into roughly three categories. The most common were the ones who mumbled a greeting, in French or English, then turned their attention to getting closer to Fleur, or Maman. They would give her only a perfunctory touch on the hands. In the second category were woman Maman knew. They were polite to Gabrielle, but patted her head and exclaimed to Maman how much she had grown. The third category were these... eccentric, that was the polite word, older wizards who would take her hand and bend in to tell her about their daughters or wives. Gabrielle had to pull her hand back from them, and could only say some variation of "that's nice."

The crowd was filing past to reach Bill and Fleur, and to the buffet beyond. That was where Gabrielle hoped to get to soon. There had been no break for lunch. Gabrielle had not even asked about it, because she knew Fleur would point to the mishap at the plunge pool as the reason why, and Gabrielle did not want to have everyone blame her. Although now that she was thinking of it, Gabrielle was becoming suspicious of Ginny. If she, reasoned Gabrielle, were herself starving, then surely Ginny was as well. Ginny was a Weasley, after all. Perhaps Harry was under the invisibility cloak, slipping her food. Or potions, since she hadn't seen Ginny chewing. Gabrielle had not seen Ginny drinking anything either, but the red-head could -

Gabrielle suddenly found her hand engulfed up to her forearm. "'Allo there Gigi." She looked up the sleeve of a horrible brown suit, past the clashing blue cloth that might have been a muggle-style bow-tie, into the hairy visage of Hagrid.

"Professor! Eh, that is, thank you for coming," said Gabrielle politely.

"Gigi?" said Charlie from where he was connected to the other side of Gisselle. "Who's he talking about?"

"Come now, I tole yeh before. Jes' Hagrid will do," reminded the huge man. "I see tha' cabinet is empty now. Fred and George sez yeh were teh one ter -"

"Eh, Hagrid, zis is my mozzer. Maman, this is Professor Hagrid," interrupted Gabrielle. She smiled brightly, hoping Hagrid would not say anything about her rudeness, or at least nothing more about the cabinet.

"Oui, of course. We 'ave met, at zee tournament, non?" said Madame Delacour graciously. "Professor now, eez eet? Well, zis eez an 'onor. Please, you must excuse my leetle one. She 'as no man-nairs."

"I dun' know 'bout that. She was a right proper young witch when teh twins brought her 'round fer tea," replied Hagrid, his little eyes crinkling as he smiled. Maman looked at him curiously. Gabrielle didn't think having tea with a professor would get her in trouble, as long as where they had tea and what happened before and afterwards was not detailed.

"Budge up there, big man," cried a red-haired wizard. Gabrielle turned her attention away from her mother's conversation to face him. It was Fred, wearing iridescent green robes. The glittering robe did not look like it was made from either leather or scales. It did seem familiar anyway. "Got a little something for you Gigi. Just a token. You know, for all your help." Gabrielle knew it was going to be trouble, but before she could say anything Fred pushed something into her hand.

Gabrielle looked at what she now held. The metal object was a silver half-globe, with a short neck at the top with a silver stopper: an inkpot. A beautiful inkpot, however, with finely worked metal for the stopper and intricate engravings for the body. Gabrielle could see why Fred had given it to her. There was an elaborate, florid letter 'G' on the base. 'G' is for Gabrielle, she thought. It was also leaking some where the short neck with the stopper met the bottom. Her fingers were smudged with sticky black ink. Gabrielle made to complain, but Fred had already moved on to Maman, taking her hand and bowing to her as if she were the Queen. Maman did not appear to be thrown off by the posturing, of course.

Just as quickly as the silver inkpot had been thrust at her, it was plucked out of her hand. "I'll just hold that for you, all right?" Gabrielle barely recognized Verity now that she was dry-eyed and wearing make-up. The blond witch was also dressed in a gown the likes of which Hermione had previously rejected as drafty. More than Fred, cringed Gabrielle, will see her in a new light. "He's been passing these out all day," informed Verity. Gabrielle couldn't tell if that was a complaint or an apology. Verity tucked the item into her handbag, smiled manically, and then took Fred's arm. She has lost her senses, thought Gabrielle. Would they make a good couple?

Gabrielle then stared at her inked fingers. What was she supposed to do now? The first thought to reach her suggested not letting her mother see. Gabrielle cupped her hand slightly to hide the stains, and looked for a place to wipe her hand. Such as Fred's face, although that wasn't going to be easy. Fred was with Papa, pumping her father's arm like a well-handle. Gabrielle suspected her father would have no problems with her using Fred as a rag. Too bad Maman was next to him.

"You must be little Gabrielle, my George's young guinea pig," said a soft but condescending voice. A hand with elegant, manicured nails took Gabrielle's hand confidently. A voice in Gabrielle's head rebelled at the emphasis placed on "little", "my", and "young", and wanted to point out that she should not be calling anyone a pig looking the way she did with scrunched up eyes. Gabrielle did not say that, or anything sensible beyond a strangled 'gah', but instead stared in horror at the hand gripping hers. It was Matty. Gabrielle knew it, even if they had not been introduced, from the burgundy sleeve trimmed in blue-black velvet from which the hand emerged. The hand that had already felt something wrong and was pulling back.

Gabrielle looked up into a face full of repugnance as Matty beheld her now stained fingers. "I am sorry!" blurted Gabrielle. Not that it was her fault, reminded a second thought. This was Fred's doing. And possibly, his plan all along.

Matty wrapped her smeared hand in a silken handkerchief, which she pulled from her seemingly empty clean hand that had balled into a fist. "Yes. I can see that," she said archly, and stepped away from the receiving line. Gabrielle sneaked a glance at her mother. Maman was watching the young woman walk away, a surprised expression on her face. Gabrielle concluded that her mother had not noticed the scene between her and Matty. It would probably take at least a few moments for her to suspect Gabrielle, then a few more to reach the end of her count.

There was a sigh. "That'll cost me more than a few galleons to smooth over. She just can't take a joke." It was George, and he took hold of the wrist which attached to Gabrielle's ink-stained hand. Gabrielle could see the silvery things on his long robes were moons and stars. Very old-fashioned, thought Gabrielle, so she supposed it was considered to be a classic. She smiled happily. "Hello luv," continued George. He started rubbing something pink and slimy onto her hand. "Goblin ink is indelible, but it'll wear off your skin. Uh, eventually."

Gabrielle's smile became a worried one, but she was not thinking of ink. "Eh, zat was not my fault. It was Fred! He -"

"I know, luv. Fred's quite miffed by not getting the headlines," explained George. He was still rubbing her hand, smoothing the pink substance along and in between her fingers. It was making Gabrielle feel tingly, and she sighed dreamily. "Still, not a bad effort - two victims for one pr - er... ploy." The pink slime began to fade, blending into Gabrielle's skin much as the goose eggs had done. Her hand now appeared clean.

"(Please, Gabrielle. Do not hold up the proceedings,)" whispered her mother.

"(Madame, I give the congratulations to you and your father,)" said George. He still held Gabrielle's hand, but was speaking to her mother. Gabrielle could see that his ears were just slightly colored, hardly at all! She had expected her newly acquired wiles to be more effective than this, especially after the morning's awkwardness. Was it possible that Matty was distracting him? Attracting him? Or perhaps he had noticed that her hair did not use the new Wheeze. The perfect moment was slipping away again. She needed to explain about Fleur, she needed to say something!

"(My father?)" asked Madame Delacour. "(Pardon, but my father is dead.)" George is going to leave, thought Gabrielle in a panic. He still holding your hand, pointed out a second thought. He might not be, if you'd let go, added a mean third thought.

George winced. "Uh, sorry, sorry. Je parle mal. Je... er."

"Will you dance wizz me?" blurted Gabrielle. She shut her eyes and kicked herself mentally. That was the dramatic end of the conversation she had quickly imagined, not the opening gambit.

While Gabrielle tried to find a way to backtrack to a point where her request made any sense at all, George shrugged his shoulders and granted it. He yanked her out of the line, crashing her to his chest, then began spinning and twisting around to some frantic waltz only he could hear. Gabrielle squealed in surprise, then clung tight to George's arms as her legs flew out. She was sure she would lost her sandals if it weren't for the gold ribbon holding them on. She felt very much like the clapper in a bell.

"You didn't need to cover my fox paw, luv," whispered George as he waited for Gabrielle to regain her footing, no longer swinging the girl. Louder, he announced, "This dancing. It'd work so much better, you know, with say... music." Laughter rippled along the line. Papa was upon them almost immediately, but George seized his hand and began pumping as Fred had done before the Frenchman could begin to rant. Gabrielle, red-faced, was pulled back into her place by Maman.

"(Get back over here and behave,)" hissed Madame Delacour into Gabrielle's ear.

"(That was not my fault,)" began Gabrielle not looking at her mother, but at the floor. And the shoes that were suddenly in front of her.

"You remind me of my daughter Dilly. She loves dancing as well. Still loves it although the leg will give her problems," wheezed the old wizard wearing a pointed hat with the biggest brim Gabrielle had ever seen. "I'm sure Dilly would be happy to show you a few of her 'magic' steps."

"Eh, yes, zat would be nice," said Gabrielle, forcing herself to smile politely. Another for the eccentric category.

v - v - v - v - v

The little town of Tytherton Lucas was not all that far from Malfoy Manor; it was easily within the range of apparition. However, thought Snape as he strode to the small copse, not all of the personnel in the Transport department of the Ministry were the ne'er-do-well scions of pureblood families, who were easily corrupted for petty rewards. Some, particularly witches of that certain age, paid careful attention to who went where. Snape had no doubt that they would take notice of his passage and flag his travel and destination, which would then be hidden by their superiors, but there would still be talk. Line-of-sight apparition and short hops weren't recorded by the Ministry - each year's batch of new licensees would easily overwhelm the detector as they showed off their new skills if it did. But that required concentration and attention, as did the flying spell the Dark Lord had showed him, and Snape wanted to spend those elsewhere.

Reaching the stand of trees, Snape made a careful reconnoiter. While this part of the landscape was outside of the blood-wards around the manor, it was close enough to still fall under the influence of the anti-muggle spells. There was no need for carelessness though. He had come across confused muggle mushroom collectors before who had managed to blunder their way deep into a warded area. Their hobby provided a convenient excuse for the effects of obliviation.

The trees of the grove were a fast-growing larch, not really suitable for the task Severus Snape had in mind, but they would have to do. The trees radiated in generations from a central, elder tree, and the former professor made for that. He aimed a severing hex at a high, young branch which, while cleanly cut, hung up on the surrounding branches. A summoning spell brought it down, and allowed the unexpected bowtruckle to sink its teeth into Snape's shoulder.

Snape examined the quickly stunned creature. It was small and unhealthy-looking, but was evidently able to survive on the larch. This was something new, for as far as Snape remembered larch wood was never used for wands. Curious, thought Snape, and convenient. The presence of the bowtruckle meant some affinity for magic was in the wood. He lashed smaller twigs of the same tree to the end of the trimmed branch using some ivy, and held up the broom for inspection. It was quite rough and the bristles would need straightening, and it would never be mistaken for even a old Shooting Star, but the crude broom would do. The impromptu construction would barely outpace a horse at canter, Snape knew. It would, however, not take much effort to guide and he could follow direct routes to save time.

"Up. Up. Up!" coaxed Snape. The broom bumped along the ground before reluctantly rising in a slow wobble. A low altitude flight, thought Snape, was likely to prove prudent. He disillusioned himself once he was astride the branch, and drifted into the late morning air.

The newly formed broom proved remarkably stable in the air. So stable, in fact, that the potions master was forced to land in order to adjust his flight path. Besides that annoying characteristic, though, the wooden steed did as desired and provided Severus with time to think. That healer, Shastry, had shown Snape an experiment in which he had attempted to create a flying snake. The pitiful reptile had wings, it was true, but could only flap feebly without a bird's keelbone. If Snape recalled correctly, which was difficult to determine given the somnolent character of the Indian's explanation, the healer had somehow merged the desired bits of the animals involved into a single... bit. That ensemble bit grew to a whole, if not particularly viable, creature in a bath of a series of potions.

The process now reminded Snape of the construction of the Dark Lord's recently lost corporeal form. Except that it was done in miniature, which would be the key benefit to those involved. Snape pictured Draco in the role of most loyal servant, giving up a thin slice of earlobe, for example. A rather small price to pay for regaining the safety of the Dark Lord's favor, or rather, lack of wrath. It was not the hurdle required of Wormtail, but the Malfoy stock was bound to be stronger magically and therefore more useful to the Dark Lord.

One potential flaw, considered Snape as he passed over the crowded muggle carriageway, besides the only expert in the technique being dead, was that it could conceivably take months to go from slimy bit in a cauldron to fully formed individual. Even years, perhaps, although if one could not die then what did it matter? Aging spells were possible, of course, but knowledge was spotty as most were interested in the polar opposite. Simply botching one of the purported youth spells might be enough, judging by the condition of most authors on the topic. Would the Dark Lord accept an unknown delay? And what could be done in that respite if he did?

The small cadre of Death Eaters were holed up in an abandoned factory works on the southern edge of Tytherton Lucas. The muggles steered clear of it as it was, with the fencing festooned with triangular signs depicting numerous hazards, and larger signs with their jumbles of short letter sequences that presumably meant something to the passersby. A simple ward to fill muggles with dread of the place rarely came into play. A more complex and powerful ward, keyed to the Dark mark, kept out unwanted magical visitors. Snape rode the broom through both, landing among the rusty barrels in order to align his direction of flight before arriving at the former company offices.

v - v - v - v - v

"Draco," said Snape sharply. The boy was slumped in one of the mismatched armchairs in what had once been the company's tea room. A wizard would have been hard-pressed to make actual tea there - everything had those blasted plugs.

"Professor?" said the boy dully, not rising.

"I believe I recommended proximity wards?"

"Does it really matter?"

"This isn't the Slytherin common room, Draco," snapped Snape. "You need to be more cautious."

"The wards keep out the muggles and the Ministry, why bother with more? It's not like anyone really cares."

"Yes, the muggles are kept away. I imagine the smell from the barrels helps with that as well. The Ministry can't get in, at least easily. That leaves only the most treacherous, dangerous wizards on this side of the wards," sneered Snape.

"Yeah, treacherous," repeated Draco, turning away. "That's right."

Snape rubbed his chin and considered the youth. The past year's struggle and pressure, and at the end of it all to be deemed wanting, were taking their toll. Certainly not, suspected the former professor, what the heir to a major magical family expected. He had been, perhaps, taken down a few too many notches. "No, Draco. You did not turn against your family, nor those you held as friends."

"Hmmph," grunted Draco in response. "Did you see the Prophet this morning?" he asked suddenly. "I'll bet he gets away with it."

"You have the Prophet delivered here?" asked Snape slowly, implying idiocy in every syllable.

"No, I don't," replied Draco curtly. "Yardley fetches it each morning. For the quidditch scores, I assume, because long words confuse him."

That was more normal, thought Snape. "I have seen the morning's edition, yes. A hard thing to overlook if one is within ten feet of its hysterics. I suspect whether or not Potter 'gets away with it' depends on the public opinion of his victim. I would not wager against it."

"You know who it was?"

The older Death Eater waved his wand at the door, which shut tightly. He then circled the room casting a privacy spell. "I suspect who it was," he said finally. "I suspect it was your dear aunt."

"My dear aunt?" asked the blond-haired boy in confusion.

"Bellatrix, your aunt Bella," clarified Snape. Draco burst out laughing. "You know yourself what Potter is capable of!" barked the former head of Slytherin house, taken aback.

"What - you're serious?" asked Draco, reigning himself in.

"Your aunt was sent to Eeylops on an errand. She never returned. If the Ministry had captured her, Scrimgeour would surely have made his way onto the front page with his prize. Our lord flew into a rage when he saw the broadsheet."

Draco looked shocked at the added information. "How is mother?" he finally uttered.

"She is distraught from the probable death of her sister, and she is still recovering from the loss of the house-elves," said Snape. "She is doing as well as can be expected."

"The house-elves are gone? What happened to the house-elves?"

"The Dark Lord butchered them. It was not explained and no one asked, of course," replied Snape. "One - never - asks.

"Listen Draco," began Snape while his protégé tried to absorb the latest surprise. "Do not repeat this to anyone. The Dark Lord fell ill three nights ago during a meeting with Ministry representatives. So ill that our lord was forced from the body he had inhabited since your fourth year."

"He's dead?" blurted Draco. Not exactly in horror, noted Snape.

"No. The Dark Lord, as he has said, can not die. He... transferred to Nagini, then to a foolish, but willing, wizard - much like Quirrel. He will look to create a body of his own again soon."

"Oh." said Draco flatly. Do contain your enthusiasm, thought Snape.

"I have a plan to put you in our lord's good graces. You will take Wormtail's role in the -"

"Are you bloody mad? Why would - " Draco began in protest.

"Enough," ordered Snape. "If I can count on your assistance in arranging things, no one need lose an arm this time."

"I'm fond of my legs as well!"

"Nothing more than a symbolic bit of skin will be needed. Not much of a sacrifice to see your lord reborn?" asked Snape. A sour look passed quickly across Draco's face. He will need to learn to control that, thought Snape. "Not much of a sacrifice to protect the Malfoy family - your family." The last part brought a determined look to the boy's eyes. Interesting, thought Snape.


	33. Revenge Is Sweet

Chapter Thirty-three - Revenge Is Sweet

This, thought Gabrielle, is a prank. It has to be. She stared at the pile of plates near the one in front of her. Why didn't the house-elves take the embarrassing evidence away? Were they in on the prank? The tiny roasts were delicious, but they were also, well, tiny. Seconds had become thirds had become sheepish fourths. Gabrielle knew she had not eaten since breakfast, and she was very hungry, but this was ridiculous. Ginny had pushed her plate away half-eaten! Priti, who she sat next to, was a vegetarian and had passed her tiny chicken to Dinshaw. Dinshaw, Priti explained, was a vegetarian as well - except for chicken. He had only picked at the second minuscule bird. Gabrielle sat at the end of the table, in her un-escorted awkwardness, and could not see whether the other Weasleys were suddenly on diets. At least, not without craning way over and drawing attention. Where were the house-elves?

Priti was quite nice. She had shiny black hair held back in a braid, skin colored like a dark suntan, and very wide hips for her frame. Gabrielle noticed that Dinshaw was still in a sour mood. Priti tolerated his sullenness, seeming not to expect him to respond to her chatter. Gabrielle thought he had rather bad manners. She wasn't completely sure, and one could not politely ask, but she thought Priti had said, or rather implied, that she herself was a squib. Gabrielle wondered if that was the reason that she was sitting next to the pretty Indian. Aunt Laurel had probably suggested it.

"Another helping, young miss?" asked a house-elf. It wore black trousers, a white shirt, and a black jacket. All lumpy-looking - the elf seemed to have something stuffed under his clothes. All the elves she had seen did.

"Eh..." Gabrielle wanted to say yes, but her concern over disappearing under a mountain of dirty plates made her pause. "You can take zee plates away, eh, first?"

"No, young miss. Dinky is a waiter," the house-elf declared. He straightened his jacket. "She can take them," indicating another house-elf, dressed in a lumpy black dress with a white apron and cap.

"Jilly is a waiter too," the second elf insisted. She hoisted the pitcher she carried up and giggled nervously.

"Ess!" hissed the first elf, behind his hand.

"Jilly is a waiter-ess, too."

"Which house-elf can take zese?" It was a reasonable request, thought Gabrielle.

"Not a house-elf! Dinky is a waiter," repeated the first elf. Okay, thought Gabrielle. This is that 'coggy' thing Mrs. Weasley mentioned. Still, the house-elf, and it was a house-elf even with the inked-on mustache, was not being helpful.

"Zose are clothes, only. You are still ze house-elf," argued Gabrielle.

"Not, not, not clothes! It is a _disguise_. Dobby says," stuttered the elf. He pushed the new plate onto the table in front of Gabrielle, nearly spilling her current plate into her lap, before running off.

"Jilly still has her tea towel. Underneath," whispered the second elf. "See?" Gabrielle colored as the elf turned, bent over, and lifted the back of her dress. Gabrielle could hear people laughing at this. "Jilly is still a Good Elf." She shakily refilled Gabrielle's goblet with pumpkin juice. Gabrielle couldn't help but notice that everyone else, including Ginny, was having wine.

"Please, ze plates?" wheedled Gabrielle.

"You need a bus-boy," replied the second elf. "Or a bus-boy-ess," she added helpfully before leaving.

A bus-boy did come along eventually to gather Gabrielle's used plates. It was a house-elf dressed as the first, but lacking the jacket. It may have even been the first elf, in another disguise. The elf made a show of staggering away under the weight of her dishes. Gabrielle didn't think that was related to any dis-owniness issues.

The dinner, or dinners, still had not satiated Gabrielle. That did not seem so bad any longer as she looked over the dessert cart manhandled to the head-table by two house-elves. By two waiter-esses, she reminded herself. There were a dozen or more cakes in many shapes, a shelf of fruit tarts, custards in a rainbow of colors, and even bowls of candies from Honeydukes. Gabrielle recognized them from her lunch in Hogsmeade with George and Fred. Gabrielle selected half a dozen cake slices and custards based on how chocolaty they looked, no longer concerned about the piles of dishes in front of her, and was presented with an additional tall glass of a layered dessert.

"A trifle, young miss," squeaked the house-elf. "It is English." Well, that wasn't necessarily much of a recommendation, thought Gabrielle. At least not based on the Spotted Dick. She was willing to try it even though there did not seem to be any chocolate in it at all. Gabrielle scooped up a spoonful, stuck it in her mouth, and -

And was full. Stuffed, even. All of a sudden, she couldn't manage another bite. Gabrielle stared morosely at the desserts glistening before her. It had been a prank all along, she realized. I don't get dessert. It was not fair. Gabrielle put down her spoon carefully and tried to compose herself. She blinked rapidly to force back the tears of frustration. She was pretty sure that a mature young woman would not cry about missing out on custard. Even if it was a rich, chocolaty custard with an enticing scent of nutmeg. Gabrielle resigned herself to waiting, so that perhaps she could at least try a spoonful of each. A small spoonful, urged an over-full stomach.

To keep her mind off the creamy delights in front of her, because it made her innards gurgle, Gabrielle compiled a list of possible culprits. The list was not hard to come up with. Top of the list belonged to Matty and Fleur, just because. Fred was on the list as well. Gabrielle reluctantly placed George in the pool of suspects also, but felt in his case it might have been an unintended consequence. Ginny was on the list, if only because she had been nice after Gabrielle had fallen into the water. Ginny, realized Gabrielle, like to keep a balance in their relationship. Ron was not on the list. Gabrielle couldn't imagine him ruining perfectly good food, or wasting lovely desserts. Anyway, would not Hermione keep him in line?

Pondering her catalog of suspects also gave Gabrielle something to do while the numbing toasts to the newly married couple droned on. Many were little more than rambling odes to Fleur's magnificence. Most contained several cringe-worthy attempts at humor. Gabrielle supposed it was the dry humor that Maman preferred, since it was not funny at all. George and Fred delivered their toast in limerick style. Gabrielle would have to find out what 'fook it' meant, since it caused a bit of an uproar. They had trouble rhyming 'took it,' guessed Gabrielle. Likely more dry humor. Gabrielle managed to down spoonfuls of several of the custards, figuring that those could fill any gaps in the food already in her stomach. A stomach which was beginning to hurt a little.

The house-elves, disguised as not-house-elves still, whisked away all the remaining plates and goblets, whether a wizard or witch was done with them or not. Gabrielle's desserts were taken away, which made her feel disappointed again, but it was probably for the best. She had been mustering up the courage for a forkful of the ganache-covered chocolate cake that was so dense that it looked like fudge. She might have exploded herself if it had not been taken away. A giddy team of house-elves then carried away the tables to the edges of the canopied area next, in case, supposed Gabrielle, one did not get the hint that the dinner was over. Chairs were rearranged after that to clear an area for dancing. There was much good-natured laughing at the wizards who were too slow to vacate their seats; they teetered unsteadily above the house-elves' heads as the elves ganged together to shift the occupied chair.

Luminous paper globes drifted down from the sky, like giant will-o-wisps, to fill the vaulted fabric over the open area, since daylight was beginning to fail. A small band was animating their instruments to set themselves up in a corner of the space. Gabrielle could see that two of the wizards in the little group had the modern-style infiniphoniums. She had heard that the new ones could not only reproduce all the older instruments, but also the muggle guitars with the plugs. If they were going to play muggle music, though, Gabrielle hoped they played the Skronk style. It almost sounded like real music.

Bill and Fleur were introduced again, and took the first dance. They danced to a strange, bleating kind of music that got faster each time the score repeated. It might have been Egyptian, certainly Gabrielle did not recognize it. Bill and Fleur more performed than danced, with Fleur whirling away then leaping, spinning like a top, back to Bill's arms. As the tempo increased, Fleur leapt higher and spun faster. Gabrielle would have been impressed if she hadn't known that Fleur recently purchased a pair of Dancing Shoes (Turn your two left feet right!). Gabrielle hoped that the photographer was still around. Fleur seemed to forget about the writhing fabric of her dress. On the last, highest spinning leap, one could clearly see her underwear. Gabrielle knew that if that had happened to her there definitely would have been a flash.

After the thunderous applause, mostly from the invited wizards, the band began a rambling waltz. Gabrielle suspected that she was not the only one to notice Fleur's southern exposure. Maman and Papa, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, joined the bridal couple on the dance floor. Papa, noted Gabrielle, did not seem to approve of how close Bill and Fleur danced. Which was silly, of course, since they were now married. And they might have been shagging anyway. Maman, who was graceful enough for both of them, did most of the moving. The Weasleys did not follow any particular series of dance steps, but looked like they were enjoying themselves. Perhaps if they could work out who was leading.

The next dance included the rest of the wedding party. Gabrielle and Dinshaw orbited the bride and groom, because Dinshaw always turned them to watch Fleur. Priti waved encouragingly at them. Fleur never took note, of course, since she only had eyes for Bill. Ginny and Archenhaud were mismatched in size, but they both danced comfortably. In fact, Archenhaud moved very fluidily. Charlie, on the other hand, danced stiffly. Gisselle did not notice. She was so close to him that Gabrielle doubted that the bridesmaid could look down to see his feet. Gabrielle vaguely remembered promising to dance with all the Weasleys. She wondered if Charlie would agree. Halfway through the song, Gisselle reached up to straighten her partner's cravat again. Moments later, Charlie tore the hated thing from his neck, threw it into the air, and with a quick "_Confringo!_" blew the material into fuzz. He then managed to vanish the remains before they hit the ground. And all with one hand! Gabrielle was able to see everything before the view of the couple was eclipsed by the waxing Bill and Fleur, and was amazed at how suddenly Charlie's wand had appeared in his hand. Even more amazing was the way Fleur just rolled her eyes dramatically and whispered something to Bill that made him laugh. Gabrielle assumed that she would explode like the cravat. Mrs. Weasley was not so unaffected, but Mr. Weasley was not cooperating with her attempt to get within scolding distance. Gisselle, Gabrielle could see, did not dance quite so close after that.

The next song was a bit faster in tempo. It had only just begun when a noisy rumble wobbled Gabrielle's insides. She apologized to Dinshaw, and moved to find a bathroom. She moved rather quickly to find a bathroom. Fortunately there were several of the familiar blue tents to choose from.

v - v - v - v - v

When Gabrielle returned after a lengthy period of time, there were now many pairs of witches and wizards dancing. She could see Dinshaw was dancing with Priti, so she needed a new partner. Certainly sitting wasn't an option, not after that, thought Gabrielle. Thank Merlin for magical toilets! Philippe had described the muggle version - ugh. Whoever had done that to her would certainly come to know her wrath. Gabrielle almost hoped it was a Weasley male, since she was reasonably sure she could order them to hold still. The bright spot was that if the dessert cart reappeared, well, there was room for treats now.

Finding a dance partner was more of a problem. Matty had seen her approach, and practically pulled George off his feet and onto the dance floor. Fred was not exactly available either. Verity was chastising him about evils of excessive drink, since Fred had returned with two drinks for himself. He looked at Gabrielle pleadingly, but Gabrielle decided that if he was the guilty party then this was the start of her revenge. Charlie had changed since her lavatory confinement, and was back in his leather garb. He was having a raucous laugh with a crowd of wizards by the bar, including Professor Hagrid. Gabrielle wondered what had become of Gisselle.

Mr. Weasley danced with Gabrielle, with his oddly busy footwork keeping her hopping, but only for half of the song. One of the eccentric types cut in and swung about with her extravagantly. He was Holden Canniter; he made and sold regular and charmed scarves for the discerning wizard. Gabrielle wasn't sure what that meant with respect to scarves, exactly. Papa always said it meant expensive. Mr. Cannitter told Gabrielle that she was the spitting image of his wife Ceci on the day of their wedding. It was, thought Gabrielle, a very long song. Afterwards, she was dragged over to meet Ceci. "You've got to meet her," the wizard told her. "She'll be amazed." Ceci was a graying, dark-haired witch several euphemisms past plump. And Ceci - was - amazed when told by her husband that Gabrielle was her youthful duplicate. It took the bulky witch more than a moment or two to find her words. Those words were that her husband had been under a lot of stress lately, but wasn't he a sweet old dafty? Gabrielle nodded politely and, while the couple smiled at each other, hurried back into the crowd.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle circled the dancing couples warily, keeping a watch out for wizards beyond a certain point of ancientness. Those were the ones who were likely to be insane. It was not that they were nasty in any way. They were polite, even nice, but it was more than a little creepy the way they carried on. Gabrielle had hoped that Mrs. Udderly's little helpers would garner her more attention, but she was hoping that attention would come from George. And it was doing nothing for her self-confidence to know that these wizards thought they could see her underneath their spreading, sagging spouses.

Gabrielle was heading back in the direction in which she had last seen Fred and Verity. She had been thwarted in her attempt to speak to George by, of course, Matty. Gabrielle had stood near them for a full ten minutes waiting for a break in the conversation that George, Matty, and another couple were having. It seemed to be about real estate. Listening in, Gabrielle got the impression that Matty was pushing George to buy a flat in London, near something like Hiding Park, instead of continuing to live above the Diagon Alley shop. George did not look particularly enthusiastic about those ideas, and it looked like the dialogue would sputter to an end. Until Matty noticed Gabrielle, that is, and carried the discourse practically on her own until Gabrielle left. Gabrielle knew that she would have been able to wait Matty out, since she was getting used to long boring conversations. That's what the teas with Maman and Aunt Laurel were supposed to teach her. And, also, not to make faces. But it looked like George was suffering, and Gabrielle did not want him to leave the party.

Fred and Verity were still sitting where Gabrielle had last seen them. Verity looked like she was trying some mental communication. Gabrielle recognized the facial expression; it had never worked for her though. Fred was oblivious to his date's mental emanations. Or, thought Gabrielle as she watched them, Fred knew exactly what Verity wanted and was teasing her. Too bad she could not use the Wave of Command, pitied Gabrielle.

"Hey luv, would you like to..." started Fred. Verity brightened, hopeful. "... have a Fudge Fly?" Verity deflated. He was teasing her.

"Eh, excusez-moi, " said Gabrielle. She came around to Fred's other side to cut off his escape route.

"Gigi! Heard you went for a bit of a swim before. How did the new floaties work out, then?" asked Fred. He cupped his hands by his chest and squeaked while making squeezing motions.

Gabrielle's eyes bulged. Oh mon Dieu, she thought, how rude can he be? "I do not know what you say," she bluffed.

"No? I've got a picture here somewheres." Fred started searching the pockets of his glittering, green robes. Merde - Gabrielle knew there had been a flash. Fleur was probably passing the incriminating photo out as a memento.

"It's tucked up your right sleeve," blurted Verity. "But I don't think she'll want to see it."

"Why's that? Everybody else did."

"She could, she could, she could be in a fragile state," suggested Verity. What did she mean by that, wondered Gabrielle. She added Verity to her list of suspects.

"Gigi? The Blond Bludger? I really don't think -"

"Verity? May I dance wizz Fred?" interrupted Gabrielle.

"Oh please, don't mind me," complained Fred. "I'll just let this little session of the Wizengamette decide my fate."

"That would be good. He doesn't get the exercise he used to, or needs to," encouraged Verity.

"I think I had plenty of exercise last night," leered Fred.

"Did you know that a couple of days or so ago he and George went on a simple errand and came back all sweaty and exhausted?" said Verity quickly. She ignored Fred's comment, but blushed badly. "If you can get him out of that seat, be my guest."

Gabrielle thought back to the Weasley family clock, and of watching the twins' clock hands swing around. Not, perhaps, a simple errand, thought Gabrielle. And Verity did not know all they were up to. "Zat will not be a problem," declared Gabrielle. She leaned toward Fred with her best smile. And leaned some more, her smile leaving just as Fred's grew. "Stop me! I am -" Gabrielle toppled into his lap, frozen in position.

"Let's try that again without that hand in my face," said Fred. He tipped Gabrielle back upright using her nose. Fred did not lift the spell though, so he held her in place. By the nose.

"Bill you dan' bizz me?" Although, reconsidered Gabrielle, why did she want to? Nothing good was likely to come from it.

"You only had to ask," grinned Fred. "Can't read minds, you know." Verity looked very put out at that.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle decided that it had been Fred who had tampered with her food. There was nothing she had found or heard that led her to this conclusion, only that he was a horrible person who needed to suffer. Fred had danced with her, but Gabrielle, still immobilized by his spell, didn't dance with him. Fred had dragged her along all over the dance floor, spinning and dipping her, and had completely ignored how embarrassed she was by the laughter and clapping of the onlookers. It was just awful. And where, demanded Gabrielle to herself, were Maman and Papa to intervene? Where was George?

George was watching, wiping his eyes as he was laughing so hard at Fred's antics. Matty was right there with him, noticed Gabrielle, for once not talking because she was shrilly laughing at Gabrielle's predicament. It was down to Monsieur Eggle-something-or-other, one of the elder lunatics, to come to her rescue. Even that did not end the spectacle, though, as the aging wizard challenged Fred to a duel. Which was rather sweet in some way, but not very helpful. Fortunately Tonks, who had not quite cleaned the cream on her robes entirely, arrived to send the would-be combatants off. Gabrielle escaped to the darker areas of the tent. It was a good place to lurk and plot, if she could come up with an idea to get Fred.

Unfortunately, Gabrielle could not think of a plan to get revenge on Fred, at least not one that didn't involve using Harry Potter's invisibility cloak and the meat fork. She also couldn't see a way to get George away from the ever vigilant Matty. After all, thought Gabrielle, all she wanted to do was to dance with George. To dance with him, and make him see her as more than a little girl. Gabrielle just wanted to dance, and have it be a perfect moment. Which, sighing to herself, was probably why Matty was clinging so tightly to him. So Gabrielle decided to look for Ron, and make him dance with her. Nicely. Surely Hermione would not mind. The other Weasley brother on her list, Charlie, was still in a boisterous crowd. Gabrielle doubted he would even notice her approach. He probably had the splints in too, so a kick would not work either. Now she felt a little sorry for Gisselle.

v - v - v - v - v

Ron and Hermione were sitting with Ginny and a red-haired wizard Gabrielle did not recognize. There were so many of those today. They were at a table near the back of the party, where it was dimmer and there were fewer people watching. The teens were working on a scroll intently, which allowed Gabrielle to slip closer, unnoticed as she tried again to be invisible. She just intended to wait for a break in the discussion. It would be rude to interrupt, rationalized Gabrielle to herself. Anyway, Hermione sounded like she had had enough of whatever they were doing.

"I'm just saying that these sound more like elaborate pranks than plans," argued Hermione. She reached up to push back her new curls, redirecting Ron's gaze as her bosom heaved. Gabrielle wondered if Ron was worth her effort. "I mean look at this one - use attractive female rat as bait. Would you even know what made a rat attractive in the first place?"

"These are just all our, er, ideas, Hermione," said the red-haired wizard. "Not all of them will be good."

"Will any? 'Best Metal Hand in Britain competition, Animagus Division' - contact selection committee for details?"

"That was just a joke," declared Ron hurriedly. "You weren't supposed to write it down."

"I wrote everything down - you can't tell what might work right off," insisted the mystery Weasley.

"You didn't write mine down," said Ginny sharply.

"Er, I , huh, was going to, but then, er, Hermione..."

"What was your idea?" asked Hermione to Ginny.

"I wanted to find some sort of ritual we could all do, together," explained Ginny.

"Urk," choked Ron.

"Oh please. There are other types of rituals," huffed Hermione. "At least I think there are. It does get cold in winter, after all."

"What if there aren't?" asked Ron, a break in his voice.

"I've seen you both," dismissed Ginny. "It's not a big thing."

"It's not? You must be disappointed," blurted Hermione, giggling.

"Have you been drinking again? Anyway, Harry hasn't," insisted Ron.

"I don't think he's interested in your thing," said Ginny flatly.

"I meant he hasn't seen Hermione!"

"A whole beach has seen Hermione, Ron," said Ginny, bringing a shrill complaint from her older friend. "I think you're the one needing to be more mature about, er, things."

"I think we should move on," said the extra Weasley.

"I think you should write it down," asserted Hermione. "It's Old magic though. Written references will be hard to find."

The quill was almost to the parchment when the writer paused. "Dumbledore did say that, er, Riddle never believed that Old Magic was worth much."

"See? There you are then!" said a triumphant Ginny.

"What other kinds of Old Magic are there?"

"If by Old Magic we mean magic done without a wand, then apparition and potions probably count, though they're still in use obviously," lectured Hermione. "Amulets, runestones, and even broom-making have their roots in Old Magic. Oh, and scrying. Seeing as well, if you believe in that rot."

"Which we do," said Ginny with an edge to her voice.

"Oh, right! Er, sorry."

"No Trelawney," said the other Weasley firmly. He seemed awfully familiar with the others, but Gabrielle had not seen him at the Burrow before.

"Too right mate," nodded Ron. "Useless, pissed -"

"Ron! She is a professor," admonished Hermione. "Even if she is, er, as you say."

There was a lull at this point, so Gabrielle came forward like she had not stopped and listened in. The unknown Weasley spotted her first. "Gabrielle! Er, hello."

"I don't think you've met her yet, _cousin Barny_," said Ginny. "Effy, this is my cousin, Barny. Barny, this is Effy."

Gabrielle made a mental note to explain to Ginny that it was extremely rude to introduce a person like that. She changed that mental note to ask Mrs. Weasley to do it. That would serve Ginny right. Then Gabrielle realized that she was being rude by not saying anything. "Eh, hello Barny. It is nice to meet you."

"Hey, isn't Beebee supposed to be a Seer?" asked Ron suddenly. "That's what you said that bloke in the pub said."

"That'd be dead useful, all right. Give her a hot chocolate and she can tell you something that already happened." laughed Ginny.

"No. Zat is not -"

"It's a bit closer to scrying, actually," Hermione pointed out. "That's a different sort of talent altogether." Gabrielle, who was feeling picked on, perked up at that. She had talents; she always thought she had. Talent, corrected a second thought. And Hermione had noticed, added a third proudly.

"Can anyone learn to scry? I've never really heard much about it before," said Barny.

"Since it's a divination art, and those classes being what they are at Hogwarts, I've no doubt you haven't," sniffed Hermione. "Did you ever see anything in a crystal ball that wasn't a crack?" The general consensus was that they had not, course work requirements not to the contrary.

"What about you Gabrielle? Er, Effy, I mean," asked Barny.

"Please, Gabrielle is good. Eh -"

"'G' is for Gabrielle!" said Ginny and Hermione in unison, before dissolving into giggles.

Gabrielle, who had not been about to say that, was unamused. She had been about to say that she was not allowed to use Maman's crystal ball, since crystal balls are expensive and a lot heavier than one would expect and can shatter into a million pieces if, for instance, one is startled while trying to hide the weighty orb. But now Gabrielle changed her mind. There no reason to give them something to laugh at, and when she had looked into the ball, it had clouded. Which was the reason she had been trying to hide it, fearing that it was ruined. Just before it had slipped from her hands, though, Gabrielle thought she had seen her mother in its misty depths. Since Maman had just come through the door unexpectedly, it might just have been a reflection. Now Gabrielle thought that it might not have been. "Eh, I did, perhaps, see somezing in my mozzer's crystal."

"Really?" asked Ginny in a tone of disbelief.

"She can find us Wormtail!" proclaimed Ron, raising his arms over his head.

"Quiet down Ron!" hissed Hermione, slapping at him. "First, Beebee said perhaps, and second, she doesn't know Wormtail. I recall reading that you have to either know the person or have something of theirs in order to scry them."

That seemed to be it for that topic. They were, felt Gabrielle, disappointed in her. That was hardly fair. In any case, she did not come over to offer her help. Gabrielle had come to get Ron, although the whole idea was not nearly as fun as she hoped. That was not important now though. She straightened up and put her shoulders back. "Eh, Ron. You will, eh, dance wizz me," ordered Gabrielle. A confident, regal sweep of her right hand completed her control of her subject. Ginny snorted. Ron stood up, then seemed to wonder if he should have.

"You're going to dance with her?" asked Hermione in shock.

"I am?" puzzled Ron.

"Oui, eh, yes. Come," said Gabrielle. This was fun; she could see why Fleur did it. That thought made Gabrielle feel guilty. She had always looked down on the way her sister used her abilities.

"You haven't danced with me yet," whined Hermione.

"Er, I, uh... I," stumbled Ron.

"You will dance wizz Hermione. Eh, after you dance wizz me," ordered Gabrielle, her hand sweeping the air in front of Ron's face. He batted her hand away. Gabrielle wondered if he was supposed to be able to do that. Was the effect wearing off?

"Give me you wand, Har - Barny," demanded Hermione. Gabrielle, horrified, took cover using Ron as a shield.

"Let's get this over with," mutterred Ron as he started toward the center of the tent.

"Finite Incantatum, Finite Incantatum," cast Hermione. Gabrielle hurried forward to keep Ron's large frame between herself and the disgruntled Hermione, in case her coven sister got more creative.

v - v - v - v - v

The music was a waltz done in the muggle-style. That meant the same number of beats per measure, over and over again. At least, thought Gabrielle, the wails and sqeals of the guitars-with-plugs setting on the infiniphoniums were less repetitive. It was probably all for the best, she mused. Ron was an inattentive partner, and anything more complicated could have been a disaster. He knew to lead, but had carelessly backed into two other couples. The lack of attention was not all bad though. Monsieur Cannitter wanted to dance again, but Hermione's orangutan had completely ignored his attempt to cut in.

Gabrielle suspected that Ron's mind was not dazzled by her beauty nor Mrs. Udderly's creations, but was somewhere else altogether. Perhaps he was planning a way to assuage Hermione's anger. Perhaps, added another thought, she should be doing the same. That he was not thinking of Gabrielle was confirmed when his mouth dropped open, he stopped dancing, and his eyes lit up.

"His pillow!" exclaimed Ron suddenly.

"Eh, what?" What an odd thing to say.

"Scabbers' pillow. I never did get around to tossing it." Ron clenched his hands in his excitement, completely ignoring Gabrielle's bones.

"Aah, let go, Ron, please."

"You can use the pillow to find Wormtail. Come on, we've got to tell the others.? Ron turned and pulled Gabrielle after him.

"Ze music is not fini," complained Gabrielle, pulling back. Not that Ron noticed the action.

"Are you sure? I think they started it over. I know I've heard this bit before."

"Eh, yes. It is ze chorus, of course. It is played again." Ron was not persuaded though, so Gabrielle decided to follow him rather than be dragged.

As they approached the table with the other teens, Gabrielle made a show of trying to free herself. She did not want Hermione to get the idea that she and Ron were holding hands, at least not holding hands _in that way_. Gabrielle would rather not have the older girl pulling out a wand again.

"What'd she do to you this time?" asked Ginny.

"Who? Oh, right, sorry," replied Ron. He dropped Gabrielle's hand, and dropped back into his seat. He should be thanking her for the dance! "I've got it."

"Got what?" asked Barny.

"A touch of the stoppies is my guess from the way he was dancing," laughed Ginny.

"No - what? I've got something of Wormtail's. Or at least Scabbers'. Who, er, was Wormtail," explained Ron.

"Really Ron? That's excellent. There are a lot of tracking spells and the like that use personal items," said Hermione. She scooted her chair closer to him.

"I never thought of that," said Barny. "I would've thought that you'd have gotten rid of that stuff."

"I bloody well meant to. I had it all in this box but, er, couldn't get the fire spell to work. Er, at the time. Never did get back to it."

"Stolidus est potestas," whispered Ginny to her cousin.

"Come again?" asked Barny. He drank something from a silver flask, grimacing as he swallowed.

"That's boys in general," said Hermione with a laugh. "Anyway, Ron did it again!" Gabrielle rolled her eyes. There would be more of the being incorrigible for sure. Gabrielle supposed that she could cross Ron off her mental dance card even if they had lasted less than half the song. That left only Bill, Charlie, and George. Other than being close to Fleur, Bill would be easy to ask. Gabrielle decided to try and sneak up on George first, just in case Matty had finally run out of things to say.

"Right! I'm bloody amazing. We should dance!" declared Ron giddily. Then he stopped and looked like he was trying to remember what he had said, or why he had said it. "Er, that is..."

"Your bloody ego is what's amazing," returned Ginny.

Hermione stood and took Ron's arm. "Well I won't pass up the invitation," she said to Ron. More coolly, she said as they neared Gabrielle, "We will talk about this later."

Gabrielle nodded uncertainly. Was Hermione speaking to her or Ron? It was not as if she had asked that much of him. In fact, came the traitorous thought, she had not asked anything of the tall redhead at all. She had simply ordered him to dance, robbing him of his will. No wonder, thought Gabrielle, Hermione is upset. Gabrielle felt that perhaps she was on a slippery slope here. On the other hand, came a second thought, Hermione could probably order Ron around also if she did it while sticking out her chest.

v - v - v - v -v

Gabrielle had miscalculated. She saw George head over to the bar for drinks, and decided to cut through the tables to reach him while he was, for once, detached from Matty. It might be her only opportunity. Three-quarters of the way to the knot of wizards that marked where George,and now Fred also, were the center of attention, Gabrielle was ambushed. Poor Monsieur Winterhall, who was completely insane, asked her dance. She should have known better, but Maman's endless lesson's in polite behavior won out. He wore the most peculiar expression on his face when they began to dance, and less that a minute later Monsieur Winterhall had broken down completely. He clutched Gabrielle to his chest, weeping uncontrollably, and calling out over and over for an Aberdeen. Gabrielle could not do or say anything. His tears wet her shoulder. It was so sad that if Gabrielle had not been somewhat terrified she would have cried as well. Thankfully Mrs. Weasley pried her loose and led the miserable man away for some tea. Gabrielle was still too stunned at that point to be embarrassed, or even to move. Before she realized it, she was being guided off the dance floor - by George! This turn of events left her head spinning, so she settled into his arm around her shoulders and tried to compose herself. Gabrielle really wanted to say something sensible this time.

"S'all right, luv," said George soothingly. "Old man Winterhall's had it pretty rough for the last - well, since he lost his family in the war. Never quite righted his broom, you see. Doesn't get out much - won't get out much after that bit of a show."

"Who is, eh, Aberdeen?" asked Gabrielle. She was feeling better already.

"That was his daughter's name, I think. He worked in the Ministry and the Death Eaters they, er... Anyway, Mum tries."

They were nearing the egde of the dancing area now, so Gabrielle decided that she should take advantage - more coherently this time. "Eh, George? Will you -"

"I'll take her from here, George," said Matty crisply. "Come, little one, let's get you some tea. Or a warm milk?"

Gabrielle stiffened. Warm milk? That had to be an insult. "Zank you, but no. I want to -"

"I'm sure we'll find something for you. Leave her to me," interrupted Matty sweetly, pulling Gabrielle away from George.

"No Unforgivables. Either of you," warned George with a grin.

"Fetch our drinks, dearest," reminded Matty. Gabrielle noted that Matty was wearing white lace gloves now. Had George run out of the pink slime, or did he save it only for special people?

"Could use a drink," said George as he turned away.

Gabrielle should not have had to put up with this, and was in fact timing a kick to her rival's ankle to free herself, when she spotted her mother. Maman was calming Papa, and even with the veil Gabrielle could tell she was watching her. Maman did not seem to be counting, but would obviously not approve of Gabrielle kicking someone's date. Gabrielle would have to bide her time and escape the first chance she got. The first chance she got when her parents, or Fleur, could not see.

Gabrielle needn't have worried. Matty, once George was safely on his way, turned her over to the nearest house-elf-cum-waiter, instructing him that Gabrielle needed tea. The house-elf turned out to be every bit as strong as Ron had been, and Gabrielle could not break free. The prospect of house-elf tea was a little alarming, but the potential for biscuits helped. She had resigned herself to a boring cup of hot liquid when she had a flash of inspiration. A waiter, Gabrielle informed the disguised house-elf, brings things to people who wait at a table. Such as, she added, the one they were passing just now. She would wait for the tea there, and, perhaps, for a piece of the chocolate cake too. The house-elf was suspicious, but eventually agreed that the idea would make his disguise more convincing.

As Gabrielle sat, she toyed with the idea of removing her faux bosom. It was not working the way she had hoped it would. George had not treated her any differently; nor had Fred, except to mock her new outline. The pink blobs did make her look better, at least in her own opinion, and a little older, but they were not getting her the attention she had expected. At least not from who she had expected. The only wizards that did seem to notice her more were graying and insane. If she did remove them, then she could at least travel across the tent without having to dodge every wizard over the age of ninety. The only drawback, realized Gabrielle, was that it would be very painful to remove them, and having to do it to herself would only make it more unpleasant. Also, she had to wonder if she would get a different reaction if there were less people, and no Matty, around, like there would be at breakfast. Not, remembered Gabrielle, that she wanted to provoke - that - reaction again from George, not really. Although...

Gabrielle intended to keep her promise to the waiter to, eh, wait, mostly for the slice of cake. But then a petite blond witch holding a flute of champagne made her way over to Gabrielle. The blond, with short, straight hair, walked carefully, like there were things in her path that only she could see.

"(You - you are Gigi, yes? You are the one dancing with the redheads?)" the blond said with a slight slur. She wasn't much taller than Gabrielle herself. It was apparent that the glass of champagne she held was not her first one.

"(It is Gabrielle, please. I am, eh, dancing with the Weasleys, yes.)" And the deranged and old, added Gabrielle to herself.

"(Gab'relle? Fleur's sister? Then you know them?")

"(Gabrielle. Yes, I know them. Most of them. Eh, Bill's brothers, mostly, that is. Who are you?)" asked Gabrielle.

"(Yvette,)" replied the witch offering her hand which Gabrielle took. Yvette rather rudely pulled Gabrielle around and pointed. "(Who is that?)"

Gabrielle looked toward the bar. There was George, Fred, and Charlie in the general area. "(Eh, which one?)" She could always feign ignorance if it was George the woman was interested in.

"(The one in those bandant leathers. He is gorgeous!)" gushed Yvette, downing more of the champagne.

"(That is Charlie. He, eh, works with dragons,)" explained Gabrielle, though it came out more like a warning.

"(Oh Merlin! He doesn't really, does he? That is - so - hot! A real wizard's job. Not a Ministry clerk, who thinks he's Merlin's own and gives you the push for the first tall and busty piece that smiles at him,)" rambled a breathless Yvette. "(Oh my god - does he have scars?)"

Gabrielle wondered if there was point to this conversation, and she wondered where her cake was. "(Eh, yes. I think so.)"

"(I'm going to pee my pants I'm so excited,)" giggled Yvette. Gabrielle recoiled - she was just joking, right? "(I have got to meet him! You, you can bring him here.)"

Gabrielle stared at the slender witch. "(Excuse me?)"

"(I can't just go over there myself. A proper girl isn't supposed to go up to a bar and pick up a guy. Even if he looks like that,)" said Yvette while rolling her eyes, the effort of which almost unbalanced her.

"(What do you mean by that? I am a proper witch! Eh, that is, girl, also.)" Would the house-elf, wondered Gabrielle, find her if she moved to another table? She did want the cake.

"(Hah, no. You're a kid. You can do it an' it'll be so cute. But when you're older you come off as... you know, loose. Or desperate. Which I'm not. Please, you have got to get him.)"

"(I do not!)" blurted Gabrielle. "(I...)" Gabrielle was going to continue arguing, but she suddenly realized that here was her chance to get back at Fleur and her sycophantic near-twin. Gabrielle hadn't seen Gisselle since her intestinal interlude, but she suspected the girl was moping around somewhere, hoping to reattach herself to Charlie. Or perhaps she and Fleur were plotting together to recapture him. Gabrielle could imagine their horror if they were to spy Charlie dancing not only with another girl, but with a girl that looked a lot more like Gabrielle than one who looked like Fleur. Yes, decided Gabrielle, this was a good plan. Getting Charlie out of the crowd would be difficult, especially if even Gisselle's wiles had not worked, but Gabrielle had an answer for that: the whip. She would get his undivided attention with that. Gabrielle was sure of it. She smiled at Yvette. "(I will do it. I, eh, need to get something first.)"

"(You're the best, Gerbil!)" chirped the slurring witch.

"(It is Gabrielle! Eh, just wait here,)" said Gabrielle, getting up. She returned to the table to add, "(Don't eat my cake. You can, eh, drink the tea.)"


	34. The Plan

Chapter Thirty-four - The Plan

Gabrielle moved silently, stealthily around the edge of the celebration, furtively slipping past the unsuspecting sitting at the tables. Half the tables were chuckling at some offered witticism; the other half were arguing politics. All failed to notice her as she slipped from shadow to shadow like a cloud leopard hunting its prey. She was as unseen as a lethifold lurking in -

"(Gabrielle. What are you up to?)" asked the figure who stepped into her path. It was her mother.

"(Maman! Nothing! Eh, I am not doing, eh, anything,)" replied Gabrielle automatically. Her mother tilted her head toward Gabrielle and said nothing. "(I am getting something from my room,)" admitted Gabrielle.

"(Not that horrible muggle knife - I forbid it!)"

"(No. It is just -)"

"(And not that little wand either, I hope.)"

"(No, mother. I have something I want to show Charlie Weasley,)" said Gabrielle crossly. She noted with some alarm that Maman had remembered the wand. That was not a good thing.

"(Mmm - Fleur thinks that he is like her Bill. I think he is more like your father,)" said Madame Delacour. Gabrielle's brow wrinkled. Like Papa? "(Now, show me your smile.)"

It was difficult to smile her best when she felt such frustration. Gabrielle had no time for this. She did not really trust that Yvette woman not to eat the cake. Also, thought Gabrielle, if Maman was concerned about how she looked, then why didn't she examine her before the wedding began?

"(Ah, no. I do not see it,)" declared her Maman after a close scrutiny.

"(Eh, see what?)"

"(I do not see why these... senior wizards are making such a fuss.)"

"(They are insane, of course! They say I am like their wives, or their daughters,)" explained Gabrielle. She wondered if she should be insulted, then wondered, as Maman slipped her wand between Mrs. Udderly's enhancements, if Maman was insane as well. "(Maman! What are you doing?)"

"(I am wondering if these are charmed in more ways than we see. Perhaps your father is right, and you should cover them,)" said Madame Delacour as she peered into the shallow depths of Gabrielle's cleavage.

Gabrielle twisted away. "(I need to, eh, hurry. I need to...)" started Gabrielle. Then she thought better of trying to excuse herself, and ran instead.

v - v - v - v - v

There were certain moments when everything stands out in perfect clarity; when everything in the world makes sense. Moments when the course of the river of fate was apparent. Gabrielle felt she was having one of those moments as she looked into her trunk. The scarlet whip, made, presumably, from the same dragonhide as the gloves, lay in a coil beneath the quidditch jersey she was keeping. That was as she had left it. Tumbled inside of the circle of leather, though, was the black licorice from Fred, which she had forgotten about. With a sudden certainty, Gabrielle could see the way to shut Matty up for the duration, so that she could talk to George, and have her revenge on Fred. Furthermore, she remembered the apron she had worn in the morning. No one had noticed her in it, not even Maman. If it still worked with so many other wizards and witches around, then the quaffle, as it was said, was halfway through the hoop.

That would have to wait until after she had had some dessert. And dessert would have to wait until Fleur's plot for Charlie lay in a burning, smoking heap of failure.

"(Oh my god,)" murmured Gabrielle to herself. "(I do cackle.)" She would need to watch out for that - it was bound to make people suspicious. Or nervous. Of course, walking around with a whip was likely to draw attention as well. There was no place in the dress to hide it. Tucking it into her front made it look like there was a snake living in her clothes, and in the back it was like she was hiding a tail. Gabrielle figured that wrapping it around her waist didn't make it any less noticeable, but at least it might be mistaken for a belt. A glaring, scarlet belt, sighed Gabrielle, with a handle.

Gabrielle spied the bundle that Professor Hagrid had given her. Even though she had eaten for what seemed like a full hour, and had been stuffed until she had effectively burst, Gabrielle was still hungry. After all, she thought, the food had not stayed in her long enough to do any good. She set to work on the rock cakes, trying to crack the outside and pry them open, wondering if they would still be good after sitting in the trunk.

Gabrielle managed to get one of the nuggets open. That was, she supposed, why they were called rock cakes. She pried out the soft. moist center. It still seemed to be good, so she ate it. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, she could soak the other cake in water to soften it. That was something to try later. At least the mouthful had taken the edge off her appetite.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape leaned against the metal pole of the street lamp, rubbed his stomach, and grimaced. The widow Shastry was a small, reserved woman who doted on her two children. She was also completely cognizant of the assets and liabilities of her current position. Negotiations were very direct, cordial, and without the posturing that normally had to be endured with, for example, Ministry traitors. Cooperation was obtained for small favor; she understood that coercion was an easily availed option.

The dinner, on the other hand, might have been a measure of payback. The widow and her children had been served from the same plate, and she lacked the ability for magical subterfuge, so perhaps, thought Snape, he should avoid vindaloo altogether in the future. A future that now required a stomach remedy, and a strong one at that. And something for the lingering burn in his mouth as well - the muggle lager had been as ineffective as it was tasteless.

The broom had given its all on the flight from Tytherton Lucas, and there were no suitable woods near the neat rows of houses. It was not, Snape knew, important to hide his travels now. The Ministry must already know of the Malfoys' loyalties, given Lucius' imprisonment, so his apparition to the general vicinity would not be unexpected. Once the actual grounds of the Malfoy estate were reached, it would take a wizard the likes of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord to breach the wards. A belch rumbled up from his stomach, bringing with it a burning reminder of his last meal. The stop at Diagon Alley would need to wait for another time.

A swirl of black robes brought him to a large boulder that Severus knew marked the edge of the Malfoy wards. It was not the edge of the property. Across the centuries the Malfoys had cajoled, bribed, and bullied the surrounding landowners to accept fences, stiles, and even trees that were in truth monoliths inscribed with runes. With them, the magical protection for the Malfoys extended at least half a mile further from the substantial estate. One had to wonder how long it will last, thought Snape, without the master of the estate present to enforce the agreements. Had that changed yet? The blood warding was set much closer to the manor house, of course, and was the main protection. But the defense-in-depth offered the potential of a counter-stroke. It also meant a long walk for those without a broom. Or a short flight, if he could work the spell properly.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle passed by the tables with growing confidence. Wearing the whip, Gabrielle decided, had given her an aura. She walked in a bubble of mystical energy, one that made wizards and witches subtly shift out of her path. No need to fear the eccentrics this time. They acted as if they did not recognize her. Gabrielle knew she was not invisible though. Different wizards had turned to watch her curiously, with some interest, but they did not approach. She strode directly up to near the bar, to the cluster of conversing wizards. "Excusez-moi," she said assertively, trying to squeeze between two. They did not move as expected, so Gabrielle was slightly squashed. And also quite disappointed that her new aura had faded already. Gabrielle stepped back. She stopped to massage her ribs. Perhaps Madame Pomfrey had been right after all.

The problem, realized Gabrielle, was that these wizards were too tall, and they either focussed on each other or who was dancing with whom. None of them would notice a person of reasonable height right next to them. Very nearly reasonable height, judged the traitorous thought. She needed a new plan of attack. Gabrielle decided that Professor Hagrid, as a professor, would of course pay more attention to student-sized people, and would be most likely to step aside for her.

Unless he had drunk too much liquor, groused Gabrielle to herself as she picked herself off the ground. She had no more than tapped his shoulder - elbow really, it was all she could reach - when he exploded in thunderous laughter and shifted backwards, sending Gabrielle sprawling. No wonder, thought Gabrielle, Gisselle seemed to have given up on Charlie. That's why you have the whip, noted another thought. It was in her hand when she got up.

Which was silly, actually. Gabrielle had no idea what to do with the leather item. She had not really worked out what she would say to Charlie either. As the wall of tall bodies shifted in front of her though, she flicked the braided leather at them in irritation. That petulant motion seemed to take on a life of its own as it travelled the length of the whip. A sharp crack rent the air, and the wizard the whip managed to reach yelped, jumped forward on reflex, collided with the bar, and fell backwards onto the floor. While this greatly amused the tipsy crowd, it did not amuse Gabrielle, nor the wizard on the ground in front of her. Gabrielle stood in open-mouthed shock; the wizard lay in an unhappy daze. "(I - I am sorry!)" stammered Gabrielle. Don't put down the whip, advised a second thought. You may need it.

The wizard she had, while admittedly aiming at him, accidentally hit rolled to his feet. "Would there be a reason for that lass? Or would you be starting a Franco-Puddlemere war now?"

"Eh, what?" Perhaps he has hit his head. "I am, eh, sorry," she added again.

"Oliver, this 'ere's Gigi. Gigi, this is Oliver Wood. One o' the bes' keepers 'Ogwarts 'as ever seen," said Hagrid with enthusiasm, slapping Oliver on the back hard enough to almost send him to the floor again. "Plays fer Puddlemere United now."

"Pleased to meet you, or I would be if I had nae spilled my drink," said the burly keeper.

Gabrielle had the feeling of many eyes upon her, so she slipped past the wizard to the edgeof the bar before turning back to him. It was a little rude, yes, but now she was hidden. "I am, eh, pleased to meet you, Oliver, also. I, eh, did not know zat ze whip would do zat."

"Oh aye? Didna stop you from using it," said a peeved Oliver. Really, thought Gabrielle, I have apologized twice already.

"None o' that now Oliver, no 'arm done," said Hagrid. Gabrielle smiled at him. She knew he would be helpful.

"Your reflexes are going, man," laughed one of the crowd. "Should've dodged that bludger." Gabrielle's smile fell a bit. Bludger again.

"And now you're caught out from the hoops," added another indicating that his spot at the bar was now taken by Gabrielle. "He's past his prime."

"Then at least I've had a prime, ya pudgy lump o' nothing!" shot back Oliver. Squeezed between the possible brawl and the bar, Gabrielle now saw, was probably not the best place to be. At least she was closer to her quarry. Charlie Weasley sat just two seats further down, looking bemused and watching the parties goading each other.

"Pudgy? It's the bleeding dress robes, innit? Latest style, according to my bird. From Berlin."

"Latest style in tents you mean."

"Oy Wood, see if you can borrow them for the next Harpies game, to help you cover the left hoop."

"That's a low blow - that's Delvaney's side. Oliver can do naught about that," protested the wizard next to Gabrielle.

"Eh, excusez-moi, please," said Gabrielle now that the wizard was not hunched over his drink.

"Now there's a man past his prime."

"He's not," defended Oliver. "He's just had a bit of a run on bad luck," he added without much conviction.

"Excuse me," repeated Gabrielle more loudly. "I, eh,would -"

"He hasn't been right for half the season. Been favoring his left arm too - you can see that."

"Should have moved Fergie over there instead of trading him for two nobodies and a bag of galleons."

"Oh Merlin, not this again..."

"A disservice to the club, it was!"

"Oy, budge up!" ordered Gabrielle as loudly as she dared. She drew back the whip; the noise would be enough to get their attention. In that moment though, Gabrielle realized just how special George was, that he would arrive just in time to save her when almost everyone else ignored her. Well, George and the insane old wizards. She moved to flick the whip forward. Gabrielle was assuming the whip would know what to do by itself. The leather pulled tight, like it was hooked on something. Gabrielle turned to check, and found Professor Hagrid holding the thin end.

"I don' think yeh should be doin' that," said Hagrid pleasantly.

"Oh! Eh, I am sorry, Professor," answered Gabrielle guiltily. The only teacher here, thought Gabrielle, and I get caught by him.

"This is'n int'resting bit o' leather," noted the grounds-keeper. He rolled the end he held between massive fingertips. "Dragon, is it?" he asked in a quiet, hopeful voice.

"Oui. Yes. It is from ze Chinese Fireball," explained Gabrielle. Hagrid caressed the length of the whip reverently. She was happy to move on from discussing what she had been about to do with the whip. "I am going to show it to Charlie, but..." Gabrielle waved vaguely at the wizard next to her who was currently rattling off the statistics of various chasers.

"No problem there," grinned Hagrid, releasing his end of the whip. He put a huge hand on the back of her neck - neck and shoulders really - and pushed her forward. At the same time he swept out his other arm, "Budge over a bit, will yeh?" Hagrid easily slid the wizard out of their way, bumping him into Oliver and the others. He ignored the ruckus this caused.

"And what have you got there big man?" asked Charlie, leaning back with his elbows on the bar.

The professor's voice sounded confused. "This 'ere's Fleur's little sister, goes by Gigi fer preference."

"Actually, eh, I am - " interjected Gabrielle to try and correct him.

"Don' tell me yeh don't remember. She was in th' wedding party," said Hagrid reproachfully.

"Course I remember her. We met over breakfast - well, was really my breakfast over her," said Charlie before laughing at his own joke. Gabrielle rearranged her Weasley rudeness ratings once more. It had a new leader.

"Have yeh seen this lasher she 'as? I think it's Fireball," said Hagrid excitedly. Gabrielle raised up the whip as if she was going to swing it, but the lounging Weasley brother never flinched. That made Gabrielle feel a bit stupid to have tried it.

"I suspect it is - she had a pair of gloves made of the same earlier," confirmed Charlie.

"Cor," breathed Hagrid. Then he slapped the bar with a resounding crash and no small amount of tinkling noises from the glassware. "Fer that cabinet, o' course!"

"I'd forgotten what it's like to drink with you Hagrid. What are you on about? What cabinet?" asked Charlie. He was chasing his spilled drink around in circles with his wand, trying to coax the swirling liquid back into his glass.

"Fred and George brung her to 'Ogwarts to 'ave a go at a cursed cabinet, one that filthy bat Snape left be'ind," explained Hagrid. "Gigi 'ere must've needed th' gloves fer that when she opened it."

"The twins needed - her - help to break into something?" asked Charlie doubtfully.

Gabrielle bristled at the tone, but not did want that to get around, not with her mother lurking somewhere, so she changed the topic. "Eh, I forgot to zank you, Prof - eh, Hagrid, for ze tea. Oh, and for ze extra rock, eh, cakes. Zey were very good." At least the one she was able to penetrate with the pliers. The other, she suspected, might be too far gone without Philppe's help and Monsieur Toulier's tools. The ones with plugs.

Hagrid smiled so much his eyes crinkled. "So many years o' settin' tea, and you were teh only one, 'sides Dumbledore - great man, Dumbledore - teh ever take so much as a bite."

"You ate one of Hagrid's rock cakes?" asked Charlie sounding even more surprised.

"Yes. Ze center, eh, first, bien sur," admitted Gabrielle. "Eh, Charlie. Will you dance wizz me? I am dancing wizz all ze Weasleys."

"No," said her target more firmly than was really necessary in Gabrielle's opinion. She had expected as much. Now she would have to use her Veela heritage to command him. Gabrielle decided that it was all right this time as she had given him a chance to agree, and it was for Yvette as much as for herself. Anyway, he had been rude. Rudish, at least. Gabrielle smiled at Charlie, or would smile at him once he looked up from salvaging his drink. Why, wondered Gabrielle, did he just not ask for another?

"Oh go on, Charlie. Give her a spin, lad," encouraged Hagrid.

"Give me a break, Hagrid. What is she - ten? I'm not in the mood to play," dismissed Charlie. "I prefer girls who are at least old enough for a sip of firewhiskey."

"I - am - eleven. Vous etes un gros porc," said Gabrielle acerbically. "I have had ze firewhiskey also," she added as if the headache following hadn't been the worst. "George and Fred, zey will..." Another part of Gabrielle's mind finally clamped her lips closed. Secrets, she reminded herself, mean no one else knows.

Charlie finally looked at her again, but Gabrielle wasn't ready to smile at him. He might have been about to mock her again. He might have been about to express admiration for her advanced maturity. Hagrid, with a cheerful "Up you get," pulled both Gabrielle and Charlie up and thrust them onto the dance floor.

v - v - v - v - v

Charlie, thought Gabrielle, was the worst dance partner yet. Ron had been distracted and ungainly, although he certainly looked much more comfortable now dancing with Hermione. Mr. Weasley had been enthusiastic and somewhat unpredictable. Bill, whom she had not yet danced with, looked fantastic. At least with Fleur. She had not really danced with Fred either, but he had moved smoothly and surely. The embarrassing scene before with George had left Gabrielle with high hopes, at least, for later. Charlie, on the other hand, moved like he had been partially affected by a Petrificus spell, and was holding her so far from himself that she wondered if he thought she was a giant cravat. It wasn't much fun, so Gabrielle decided to get to the point.

"Eh, dance over zere, please," directed Gabrielle. She tried to tug Charlie around to face the right way. A pair of dancers nearby had clearly been eating George and Fred's cheese. Fleur had allowed it?

"Why?" asked Charlie sharply, holding Gabrielle to the one square meter box he had kept to.

"Zere is someone who wants to meet you," explained Gabrielle. "Also, we can, eh, move all over ze floor, if you did not know zat," she added in exasperation. Gabrielle wished now that she hadn't left the whip with Professor Hagrid.

"Another pampered princess going 'pip pip' and 'cheerio' in my ear about Ministry careers? No thank you. Romania is wild and beautiful, and dragons... are my life," growled Charlie, and he started to pull away.

Gabrielle held on to him. "Eh, no. She zinks dragons and, eh, you, are hot." Why, wondered Gabrielle to herself, am I bothering with this? It is getting late. Gabrielle looked over to where Yvette sat, squirming like, like a child waiting for a present. Was she holding a fork?

"Well that's a different broomstick all together," declared Charlie. "Is she a looker?"

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle, who had been watching the petite blond for signs of cake-eating and had not been listening.

"Doesn't matter, really. After spending time at the camps, you'll come to prefer a goer over a looker," said Charlie with a wink.

Gabrielle decided to ignore that. She suspected it was meant in a rude way. "We will go now zen, over zat way?" Gabrielle nodded in the general direction of where Yvette and her cake sat. She yelped as Charlie unexpectedly pulled her close and strode off as if dancing to a tango, her ribs twingeing.

Gabrielle stumbled against her suddenly animated partner, her face getting pressed against his chest. The leather of the robes smelled of the musky oil used to keep it soft. It smelled of oil, and of pungent brimstone from young dragons wanting to play and from bad-tempered, older dragons that always looked for an opening. There was the comforting aroma of wood smoke too, from camp fires. Like the one she sat at now, holding the raven-haired girl to her chest as they watched the smoke curl into the star-filled sky. It was a wonderful moment, and it couldn't last. She could not put off rooting the rogue youngling from beneath the rock ledge it hid in any longer. Lettie and her family would leave in their caravan. A squad of keepers from the camp would arrive soon to see if there was finally a dragon quicker than her. Tonight, it was the best of the life, and, for the first time ever since joining the camps, she knew it was the worst of the life too. She wouldn't leave it though. It was the way dragons looked at a person, full of malevolence and viciousness - it set even most wizards running, or rooted them with fear. If one held the gaze and didn't flinch, though, one could see the eyes change. They recognized you then. As one of them. It helped to be fast enough to dodge or block the fiery blasts that would come either way. Mostly dodge - she felt her face. The burn paste was -

Wet. Gabrielle blinked her eyes open, which turned out to be a mistake because whatever was running down her face ran into them and stung.

"(Gerbil-el, are you all right?)" Gabrielle wiped her eyes and cracked one open again. It was Yvette, bending over her and swaying gently. An empty champagne flute was still aimed at her.

"You fainted," announced Charlile. He was holding her in a chair.

"No," said Gabrielle distractedly. They were at the table, which was thankfully beyond most of the crowd. "It was a Seer's, eh, trance," she added more definitely. "I, eh, have many talents." Gabrielle turned to Yvette. "(You did not need to do that!)"

"(You should rest. Tell him, tell him I will finish the dance,)" said Yvette. She said it to Gabrielle, but she stared at Charlie hungrily. Gabrielle stared at the plate on the table. Yvette had been eating her cake. Her cake! The pointy part of the wedge was completely gone. And that was her favorite part because it was always the moistest.

"Funny seers never see their own misfortune," grinned Charlie. Gabrielle glared at him. She felt like telling him it was not her misfortune other than the misfortune of having to deal with such stupid people.

Instead, Gabrielle decided it was best to send them off. "Charlie, this is Yvette. (Yvette, this is Charlie Weasley. He was the best man.)"

"(He - is - the best man,)" giggled Yvette. Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"What's she saying?" asked Charlie. The way he was eying the petite witch Gabrielle wondered if it really mattered.

"She says she wants to, eh, dance wizz you," replied Gabrielle. She used the table cloth to dry her face and thought of the empty glass in Yvette's hand. "I zink she is ze tart."

"That's a bit catty," laughed Charlie. His wand suddenly slid from his sleeve - Gabrielle could see it this time. It was on a mechanism of some sort. "Scourgify. Oh. Whoops."

"Eh, what? What is it?" asked Gabrielle. What has he done now?

"'S'all right. I just took off your make-up. Least you're not sticky now."

"(What is he saying?)" asked Yvette with a bit of a whine.

Gabrielle signed irritably. The only make-up she had had was the lipstick. She hadn't liked Fleur's choice, mostly because it was Fleur's choice, but now her face would just be plain and unnoticed. "(He says he dances badly, and he is shy about it.)"

"(Tell him it is not a problem. I can show him many moves,)" cooed Yvette. She wriggled forward and plastered herself against Charlie for the dance. She is a tart, thought Gabrielle.

"She says she will -" started Gabrielle.

"Believe it or not," interrupted Charlie,"I'm fluent in this language."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle watched the two of them dance while she ate the remaining cake, with the spoon from the tea. Yvette had used the fork, and Gabrielle did not want to use it after her because Yvette might be, frankly, germy. The cake was very delicious, which meant that the part the inebriated witch had eaten would have been fantastic.

Charlie was far more mobile this time, slowly edging his new partner to a quieter corner of the floor. Gabrielle scanned the crowd for Gisselle and Fleur, hoping to catch the moment when they realized their defeat was at hand. When she did spot them though, it was clear her efforts had had no effect. Gisselle was dancing with a well-dressed wizard, very closely, and they were obviously talking. Gabrielle decided that probably meant that he was a French wizard. Fleur had also not noticed Gabrielle's matchmaking. She was trying to get past Verity to Fred, to club him with what looked like most of an ice sculpture. A laughing George watched from nearby, while that Matty woman hovered looking very displeased and upset.

The dance ended, and Charlie took Yvette's hands in his and kissed them. Even from this distance, Gabrielle could see Yvette blush. Charlie made to leave, but Yvette held onto him. Possibly so she wouldn't collapse. Charlie took this to be an invitation, and gathered the lithe witch into his arms and - kissed her on the lips! Gabrielle found that very surprising; she doubted that Yvette was Charlie's type at all. Certainly she was nothing like Lettie. Yvette must have approved of his forwardness though, since she wrapped as much of herself as she could around Charlie in an embrace. This, thought Gabrielle, would surely upset Gisselle. Did she notice?

Gisselle had not noticed. She was trailing behind her dance partner, who was heading for a house-elf waiter-ess with champagne. Fleur was sitting primly and looking satisfied. Neither looked devastated by her cunning. Bill was trying to repair the ice with his wand. When Gabrielle looked back, Charlie and Yvette had disappeared. It had all been for nothing, sighed Gabrielle.

She brightened instantly. The cake, even in its slightly used condition, was perking her up. That had, realized Gabrielle, just been a distraction. It was time to put the big plan in motion. It was time, piped a second thought, to consider everything that could go wrong in the big plan. Gabrielle ignored that note of caution. Again, complained the thought. This was too important. She had to save George. Which would, naturally, lead to the perfect moment, when she and George would dance, properly, and touch each other souls with, eh, with... It would just happen.

First though, Gabrielle had to get back to her room. Slinking suspiciously along the edges would draw Maman's attention again because it was, eh, suspicious. But walking casually past the crowd presented difficulties as well, as she would have to run the gauntlet of... senior wizards. Which, decided Gabrielle, was being somewhat mean to them since they had been nothing but nice to her. Well, nice and somewhat disconcerting. Very disconcerting with respect to Monsieur Winterhall. There had to be another way.

It came to Gabrielle that Ginny could help her. Ginny had said she had learned ways of moving around the Burrow from watching the twins. Perhaps there was secret tunnel. Gabrielle had seen Ginny dancing with that boy Neville at one point, but she didn't seem to be dancing now. The last place Gabrielle had seen Ginny sitting was with her cousin, so Gabrielle decided to look there first. That was closer to where Gabrielle was sitting anyway.

v - v - v - v - v

Progress toward her goal was slow. The Cannitters had waved Gabrielle over, and she couldn't just turn away, because she had been walking in that direction. Gabrielle was relieved to learn that the couple was leaving, though she thought that she hid that well. Monsieur Cannitter presented her with a knobbly wool scarf done in a gray and black tartan. When Gabrielle tried it around her neck, she found it very much softer than it looked. Monsieur Canniter apologized that she couldn't have one of his charmed works, but he promised that she could exchange it if she would just owl him care of the shop. Madame Cannitter did not seem to appreciate that offer very much. Gabrielle thanked them both, and said that she had to fetch something for another guest. It was not a lie, unless the other guest had to want it.

Gabrielle got as far as the Eggle-somethings. They were also preparing to leave. Though it did not feel that late to Gabrielle, she began to fret that the party was breaking up, and that she was running out of time. The Egglesanhams gave her their address and invited her to visit. Gabrielle smiled her thanks, and could not imagine a situation where that would ever be likely.

The sight of a rather fierce-looking Mr. Weasley distracted Gabrielle. He was speaking to a lanky man with tawny, graying hair. She had never seen George's father look like that before and it surprised her. Gabrielle had always thought of Mr. Weasley as being like her own father, except perhaps a lot less embarrassing. She walked in a wide arc around the two men, then stopped within earshot to casually scan the edges of the crowd beyond the two men. Yes, she could hear them clearly.

" - happened to be near on official business, and just thought I would stop in to offer my congratulations," said the wizard, looking about.

"Well thank you, Prime Minister. Nothing to do with the morning's headline, of course," said Mr. Weasley combatively.

"There's also the very large and costly security detail to check on," the other wizard continued, ignoring Mr. Weasley's tone. "But yes, I was hoping to speak with young Potter again."

"Ah, official business then," nodded Mr. Weasley. "I notice that Percy is not with you. Why is that, Prime Minister?"

"I'm sure you're aware that the Ministry, even is these troubled times, allows its employees the weekends off. A young man has his own plans and priorities. Now, Arthur, I need to see Potter."

"He is not here at the moment, Rufus. Neither is Percy, who has not been at his desk either." Gabrielle became confused. Surely Mr. Weasley had been told?

"I know Potter has been staying at your home. Where has he gone?"

"A young man, of-age by your decree, has his own plans and priorities. I don't know where Harry is at the moment. Where is my son?"

The wizard ran his fingertips along his bushy eyebrows. "I can see this is not the time for this. I do wish you were more forthcoming, Arthur."

"I... feel the same, Prime Minister," replied Mr. Weasley. The wizard he spoke with looked askance at that, perhaps trying to decide if he should be offended. He appeared to back down in the confrontation with Mr. Weasley, and turned away. Gabrielle turned away to scan a different section under the canopy, guiltily.

v - v - v - v - v

When Gabrielle reached Ginny and her cousin Barny, she explained about the eccentrics, showing them the scarf she had received. Unfortunately, Ginny had no secret method of reaching the Burrow unseen. Her cousin looked as if he had an idea, but Ginny stridently declared that her cousin had no way either. Gabrielle found it odd the way the older girl said the word cousin so distinctly, as if she were reminding him or something. Even so, Gabrielle was not accosted as she made her way to the shared bedroom. That was because Ginny simply walked with her. Ginny explained it simply: no one would ask one of a pair of girls to dance, because what would the other one do?

This is just a different problem, grumbled Gabrielle to herself. How was she supposed to get the Wheezes with Ginny right there? She was sure Ginny would not mind the prank on that Matty woman, but she doubted her coven sister would let her get away with having Fred take the blame. Actually, reconsidered Gabrielle, Ginny would probably let her do that, provided she got something in return for her silence. That could be too high a price, decided Gabrielle as she remembered dangling upside-down in the hall. I should have gotten the whip back.

The two bridesmaids met Charlie coming the other way as they approached the house. He now wore only a linen shirt and leather leggings, which struck Gabrielle as inappropriate for the event. Although, she admitted to herself, he did look pretty cool in them. Gabrielle wondered if George would have an outfit like that, then reprimanded herself for being too Gisselle. Yvette was not with him. Gabrielle did not think the two would hit it off.

"Nice look Charlie," commented Ginny. "Did you miss the note about proper dress?"

"It's not proper dress if it's not flame-proof," retorted Charlie. "Anyway, I wore that flash tangle for as long as I had to. Felt like I was getting stuck with pins." He rubbed his neck, which had several red marks on it. Red marks, noticed Gabrielle, like the one she had seen recently on Hermione.

"Are zose from Yvette?" blurted Gabrielle.

"Ha! Was she a handful! Least for while," smirked Charlie.

"Who's Yvette?" asked Ginny.

"Just a bit of fluff that 'Gerbil-il' here introduced me to. A real goer," smiled Charlie. Gabrielle was dumbfounded at his callous words. He really was a pig.

"Gerbil-il?" Ginny cocked an eyebrow.

"Where is Yvette?" demanded Gabrielle, suddenly feeling protective.

"Relax. She's have a kip right now, is all. I left her upstairs," replied Charlie. He regained his smirk. "She needs to sleep it off; she'll be right sore in the morning."

"Where upstairs? Mum's not going to like this," warned Ginny.

Gabrielle already knew where Yvette would be. Why should her luck change? "Yeah, Mum was always on me for leaving my playthings around. I left her on the extra bed in your room," said Charlie. He added with a grin, "Sorry."

Now Gabrielle was starting to feel really annoyed. This was exactly, thought Gabrielle, how Duncan had treated Gisselle. According to Fleur, at least. Gabrielle felt angry for Yvette, and she didn't really even know the witch. Gabrielle lashed out, "Eet is no wonder zat Lettie did not stay!"

That caught Charlie off-guard. He looked very taken aback. "How in Merlin's name do you know about Lettie?"

Gabrielle tossed her hair with a shake of her head. Her hair did not have the length nor the body to make it much of a gesture. Fleur could do it much better. "I can See, eh, ze past. I have many talents, of course."

"Hmmph. I guess that explains it then," concluded Charlie.

"Eh, what?" That was not the response she had expected. It was neither contrite nor angry.

"So now who's Lettie?" asked Ginny. "Cor, and I thought Fred was awful."

"Lettie," answered Charlie flatly, "is the past." He pushed past the girls, ignoring Ginny's questions.

"Wow. You really got to him," said Ginny, half to herself.

"He is, eh," started Gabrielle. She knew the right word for him, he was a, a...

"He can be a plonker, sure," finished Ginny. No, thought Gabrielle with a furrowed brow, that was not the word I was looking for. That did not even sound like an actual word. "You follow quidditch? Seekers can get like that - too many girls throwing themselves at them."

"Eh, I zought zat Harry played -"

"Harry's different."

v - v - v - v - v

The obstacles to her plan, noted Gabrielle glumly, were piling up. The first was Ginny. Gabrielle had thanked her coven sister, very much, for her escort when they reached the Burrow's entry hall. She hoped that the older girl would go back to her cousin, or chase after Charlie for more details about Lettie. Ginny did not take the hint, though, because she wanted to see about 'this Yvette'.

That was certainly going to be a problem, if not now then certainly for later. Where would she, for instance, wondered Gabrielle, sleep tonight? And, could she at least get clean sheets from Mrs. Weasley? Because, well, yuck. Yvette snored wetly on Gabrielle's bed, bundled in Charlie's leather robes. Some of her clothing was on the floor, leaving little doubt as to what was under the robe Yvette was nuzzling in her stupor, not that Gabrielle wanted to check. It came to Gabrielle that perhaps it was the robe that the petite blond had really wanted.

Ginny seemed more interested in, as she referred to Yvette, 'the slag'. Gabrielle planned to quickly get the licorice from her trunk while Ginny was distracted, except there was the other obstacle. Crookshanks sat on her trunk with his tail around his feet and a decidedly disapproving look on his feline face. Gabrielle reached for the latch anyway and a paw stopped her. A second attempt brought out claws.

"Crookshanks, please," pleaded Gabrielle in a whisper. "I need somezing from ze trunk." Which was, pointed out a second thought, a pretty dumb thing to say. The cat already knew she wanted something - that's why he was stopping her. He was probably mad about the promised, but non-existent, salmon.

"She's a lot scrawnier than I expected Charlie to go for. Given the way he was ogling Gisselle, anyway," announced Ginny. She wrinkled her nose. "Does he ever wash this thing?" she asked, letting the robe flop back down on the unconscious Yvette.

"It is to, eh, save George," whispered Gabrielle, ignoring Ginny's commentary. Crookshanks tightened the grip his claws had on her hand. "It is true."

"You keep telling yourself that," said Ginny. "Geroff! Go on!" she suddenly shouted. A shoe crashed onto the trunk next to Crookshanks, making him hiss. Another near-miss with a second shoe sent him skittering under the bed. Yvette's arm flailed at the air briefly before slumping back down.

Gabrielle picked herself up from where she had dived at the sudden explosion of sound, shoe, and cat. She sucked at the scratches on the back of her hand - at least that was one obstacle gone. Hopefully Ginny would suddenly remember something she had to do - somewhere else. "Eh, zank you," said Gabrielle since Ginny was staring at her, although there was a limit to her gratitude since she was bleeding.

"Well, go on then. We've all been waiting for you to do something."

"What do you mean by zat?"

"Come off it. Everyone saw you give Matty the evil eye on your way down the aisle. We were wondering what you are planning."

This was an outrageous accusation, thought Gabrielle. However much true, added a treacherous thought. "I am, eh, not planning anyzing!" This was not really a lie - she already had a plan, and that plan did not include telling Ginny. Crookshanks yowled accusingly from beneath the bed.

"How about a hint?" asked Ginny, ignoring Gabrielle's claim. "There's galleons riding on this. And, er, I don't have the galleons to cover, actually," explained Ginny, the whole of her ears reddening.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle headed down to the kitchen, keeping her eye out for Ginny. Her roommate had retreated in the face of her fury, but Gabrielle suspected Ginny would just try and spy on her. Gabrielle had been upset on two accounts. First, that the others had expected to her to do this, as if they thought her a trouble-maker; and second, that Ginny was trying to cheat the others. Fred was making some kind of book about it, which did not make any sense to her. It did worry her some, though, since if her Maman found the book then there would be trouble.

Gabrielle slipped into the kitchen to get the apron from its hook. As soon as she opened the door, she wished she had come to the kitchen earlier. There were plenty of desserts left! She could eat as many as she wanted. If only there was time, which she was running out of if she was going to have the perfect moment. "Eh, excusez-moi," she said to the closest house-elf, touching him lightly. He was facing away from her. Gabrielle would ask to have one of each dessert set aside for her - otherwise Ron would get to them first.

The house-elf turned, and shrieked. Gabrielle shrieked back. It was Geff. "Geff is a bad elf! Geff is sorry! Geff will throw himself into the grinder!"

A/N: Please add a review.


	35. A Perfect Moment

Chapter Thirty-five - A Perfect Moment

Gabrielle recovered from the initial surprise quickly, and now faced the challenge of quieting the howling house-elf before half the guests arrived. She would have preferred to subdue Geff magically. He was definitely not among her favorites. But that would take the wand, and spells, and having practiced to use the spells. Instead, Gabrielle tried shouting at the elf to calm him down.

It did not work. Geff began repeatedly crashing his head into the leg of the heavy worktable. It certainly looked like it hurt, and it must have since Geff suddenly stopped crying out apologies and lamentations, and instead stood woozily, blinking. Gabrielle took the opportunity to shout at him, this time, less flustered, in English. "Stop zat, you lunatic!" ordered Gabrielle. Of course, Geff had already stopped at that point, so she felt a little self-conscious. More normally, and somewhat superfluously, she added, "You are hurting yourself."

"Geff - Geff? Yes... Geff is a bad elf," said the elf uncertainly.

"Eh, yes, okay," agreed Gabrielle. At least he was quieter. "Zere is no need for ze, eh, noise, and you will break Mrs. Weasley's table." The appeal to Mrs. Weasley's authority was, expected Gabrielle, a master-stroke.

Or not. "Geff is a - very - bad elf!" He threw himself to the floor.

"I have said stop zat!" repeated Gabrielle, and then she sat down on the old elf. It was like sitting on a writhing mass of pipes. Back home, Gabrielle had learned to associate house-elves with phrases like 'fine old home' and 'noble family line.' Her experiences in Britain added 'potentially unstable lunatic' to the list. Honestly, thought Gabrielle, when she had a house the very last thing she would want with it was a house-elf. "Stop, or I will bring Mrs. Weasley."

Either because the threat worked or because he couldn't breathe properly with Gabrielle on top of him, Geff settled into a weepy, regretful moaning. It was obvious he had done something that he thought was wrong, but Gabrielle could make no sense of his hysterical apologies to her. She decided that she had no time for his insanity, that she should send him off now. "You will, eh, rest, Geff. Eh, please," commanded Gabrielle. She waved her hand at him also, in case it helped.

"No punishment for Geff? No ear-singeing? No nose-stretching?" asked the elf sounding peculiarly disappointed. "You is forgiving Geff?" he asked carefully.

"Eh, yes." Whatever, as long as he remained quiet. "You can go now," allowed Gabrielle. The crisis seemed to be over, its end as inexplicable as its beginning. Gabrielle cautiously got up. The twinges in her sides were happening more often. Madame Pomfrey will be a nightmare, rued Gabrielle. Well, tomorrow was for rest.

"Yes, Miss," agreed Geff. The little creature vanished from view with a pop. Another noise from atop the icebox indicated that he had made it to his home. Or nest. The other house-elves in the kitchen resumed their activities. Gabrielle had the feeling that she had missed something.

"Madwozelle is very kind," complimented Dobby, who appeared in front of her the moment Geff had left. He wore a shiny black jacket with the sleeves pinned into cuffs, and a tall top-hat. Gabrielle could not help but stare at it. "Geff was a bad elf."

"No, Geff is forgiven. You is still a bad elf," rasped Geff, unseen, from his perch. Gabrielle rolled her eyes. They were like little kids - little, lunatic kids.

"Dobby is not. You can ask Harry Potter," replied an affronted Dobby, turning to face the icebox. Gabrielle decided to fetch the apron. She was not going to referee this argument.

"You is teaching the young to be bad elves. You is teaching them to be... employees," accused Geff, ending in a horrified whisper.

"Dobby is not! Dobby is giving them work! And the sickles is helping Hogwarts. Dobby is... modern," exclaimed a voice from beneath the slipping top-hat. All activity in the kitchen had stopped again. Too much hand-wringing and ear-twisting was going on.

"They is wearing clothes," said the unseen Geff.

"Not clothes! Is a disguise! It is needed for the work - like an apron!" insisted Dobby. Gabrielle hurried from the kitchen to the entryhall. She managed to grab a tray before leaving. Thank goodness, thought Gabrielle, that the dinner was already over.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape yanked the bell-pull at the door, then brushed the few leaves from his robes and combed his fingers through his hair to dislodge any remaining twigs. Regardless of student opinion of him year in and year out, swooping did not come naturally to him. The exact moment flying turned to falling was proving difficult to judge. Thankfully, grimaced Snape, the Malfoys had made rather staid choices in shrubbery. Nothing more noxious than some Screechsnap.

The door was opened by the combination hat and umbrella stand that was done in brass and mahogany. It had formerly stood unused near the rear entrance of the manor house. Now, it bowed to him formally as it bumped the door closed. Narcissa was proving to be a quick study with the homemaking spells. That was good - it would help her better deal with her sister's fate and her husband's incarceration.

Unless it got out of control, thought Snape as a now-animate hunting trophy dusted the wainscoting with its fur. The yeti was well suited for the task, noted the former professor. Being covered in long fur, it could dust the lower woodwork all in one go with its leg, and its long arms could handle the moulding around the doorways. Which ancestor, though, would be rolling in his grave at the prize's treatment?

Snape made his way to the dining room, with its table that rivalled any of those in the Great Hall at Hogwarts for length. There were place settings for four, and food for ten. It would appear, smirked Snape, that Madame Malfoy has found a cookbook. Two of the settings were unused. Most of the platters were arrayed within reach of the shell that had been Ogden Dickinbottom.

"My lord," greeted Snape, dropping to a knee.

The features on the old wizard's face sharpened perceptively, and he set down the full fork. "There are no curry shops on Diagon Alley."

"No, my lord, there are not." No need to wonder how the Dark Lord knew, thought Snape. The widow Shastry ground her own curries and it permeated the house.

"My - request - for more information on the fate of Bellatrix is therefore left... unfulfilled. Explain yourself." The dull red tint of the eyes of the possessed Dickinbottom stoked until it matched the color of red-hot iron.

"My lord, I am concerned for the sturdiness of your current... form. I made contact with the widow Shastry -"

"I have no use for a muggle, or her mongrel offspring!" snapped the Dark Lord. His hand moved to the wand at the side his plate.

"She is a keen observer, a meticulous note-taker, and, I suspect, an effective collaborator. Her husband's hobby, his obsession, was the creation of chimeras; illegal chimeras. I thought that when it came to creating a strong, new, more worthy body that her knowledge of her husband's techniques, and better components, would serve you well," explained Snape quickly.

"Chimeras have been created before, Severus. There are even tomes in the Malfoy library on the topic, part of a meager minority of useful books sprinkled among the larger dungheap of self-aggrandizing memoirs and suspect histories. I am very interested in what happened yesterday on Diagon Alley."

"The late Shastry's breakthrough, if I am understanding it, was to use a 'cell' as the cauldron. One perfect 'cell' is then grown into the adult form," risked Snape. Had he misjudged the Dark Lord? Damn that vindaloo.

"I see. That would indeed seem to be a new technique," said the Dark Lord more thoughtfully. As the red in the eyes dimmed, his hand reached for the fork. A sharpening of the gaze forced it to subside. "I recall this Shastry. He desired to replicate the caste system of his native land here, with muggles as Untouchables. Curious, considering his origins and his wife."

"His widow has agreed to provide us aid as we require it," reported Snape. The hand moved to the fork again.

"You are moving with the speed of a man with a destination, Snape," said the Dark Lord sharply. "Where is Frenrir, Severus? I know you dislike his kind. Two rivals for favor gone in such a short time. Lord Voldemort sees all. Should I be impressed? Or concerned?" The raised fork was suddenly slammed back onto the table, drawing a gasp from the overlooked Narcissa.

"My lord, Frenrir offered to find the Potter brat. It may be a fool's errand, but we were looking ahead to recreating your form. I truly do not know where he is." Snape did not try an earnest tone or an innocent look - the Dark Lord could see much deeper than that.

"I do weary of this body already," admitted the Dark Lord looking down in contempt at the hand. "Dickinbottom is beset by appetites; they are nearly the full extent of his personality." His breath was becoming labored. "Even fruit will stir the loins."

A silence fell, which was uncomfortable for some. "Won't you join us, Severus? There is more than enough," offered Narcissa.

"You spoke of better components. To what did you refer?" asked the Dark Lord before Snape could politely decline.

"Wormtail, specifically. My lord, you have many more servants at your side -"

"I see you have made your choice, Severus. How very... forward thinking," smirked the face of Ogden and the essence of Lord Voldemort.

Perhaps, considered Snape, it was time for some groveling. "Forgive me, my lord. I only wished to redeem myself after having failed to ensure the success of your plans while you recovered."

"Don't bother, my black-hearted spy. You know your trade well. You have made yourself invaluable to me and bettered your own position," replied the Dark Lord. "Tell me your candidate." Snape hesitated for just the tiniest moment, but it was enough. "Ah," continued the Dark Lord, the lips curling cruelly. "Lord Voldemort sees all. Shall I guess?"

"It is Draco -" began the former professor reluctantly. There was a crash from the other side of the table and a strangled cry from Narcissa.

"I - excuse me, I - I burned myself on the bowl," stuttered a white-faced Madame Malfoy when they turned to her.

"Remarkable, as that is the vichyssoise," noted a pleased Dark Lord.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle donned the apron behind some bushes just outside the door of the Burrow. She had to disentangle herself from their reaching twigs, and still stumbled getting out from behind them. Thankfully, thought Gabrielle, there were no thorns to be picked out of her clothes, because then Maman would know she had not looked beforehand again.

Gabrielle had the tray, but realized that she didn't have a plate to put the candies on. She didn't think that Matty would take such a dubiously presented item, but she also did not want to return to the kitchen. There was only so much house-elf insanity one could take. Fortunately, the lace doily from beneath the centerpiece of flowers on the tables provided a solution. Gabrielle took one from an unoccupied table and carefully arranged the three pieces in a perfect triangle. After, of course, turning the doily over to use the clean side. Cleaner side, at least. She judged that she would take one if offered, so she set out toward where she had seen Matty and George last.

They were not there. Gabrielle felt a rising anxiety. Were they dancing? Had they left already? Together? She should have left Yvette to her own devices. Gabrielle would certainly be kicking that, eh, slag out of her bed! Gabrielle stood at their former table and scanned the dance floor. A tall wizard with flowing auburn locks asked if she had any wine while staring past her. She shook her head no, and he set his empty goblet on the tray. Gabrielle frowned at this since it messed up her triangle, but the wizard had taken no notice and moved on.

Gabrielle spotted George talking to Verity. Matty hovered at his side, looking displeased again. Gabrielle suspected that the decidedly colorful Verity, who had obviously eaten a good bit of the altered brie, was the cause. She headed over directly, leaving the goblet and adjusting her triangle, and came up behind her rival.

Matty ignored Gabrielle's presence. This was not anticipated; although, realized Gabrielle, it should have been since that was the reason she wore the apron. She felt a little stupid for overlooking that. A second thought noted that it did give her the opportunity to stop before the trouble began. Gabrielle ignored that like Matty ignored her. George was listening to Verity complain about the changes needed at the shop for the school rush, if there was even going to be one this year. Gabrielle decided that it really was relaxing watching the blobs of color crawl across Verity's skin. She wished she had known there were more colors at the time.

That was not going to help accomplish her goal though. Gabrielle considered a number of ploys to get Matty to notice, but only slightly, her and the tray. None of them, like coughing or clearing her throat, seemed particularly safe, given how she had been noticed in the apron previously. So, Gabrielle prepared to flee, and very gently nudged Matty with the tray.

It worked. Gabrielle wondered how well, though, and braced for the worst. Matty turned and looked at the tray. "No thank you," she said dismissively before turning back.

Gabrielle was elated that she had not been recognized, and disappointed that Matty had refused the offered treat. Gabrielle wondered if she should have stacked the licorice pieces up - that was popular in restaurants lately. She tried again.

Nudge ."No. No thank you!"

Nudge. "I've told you no already."

Nudge. "Please, I don't want any, all right?"

Nudge - this was fun. "Look, I don't want them. Go away."

Nudge. nudge. "Oh all right! I'll have just the one. Now go away!" surrendered Matty. She put the licorice in her mouth. "Bloody elf waiters - completely gauche." Gabrielle quickly slipped the other candies into the apron's pocket and stepped back.

Nothing happened. Gabrielle was contemplating risking another nudge or two just to see if the Wheeze had worked when she saw Fred. He was headed toward his brother and his date with the wizard Mr. Weasley had been speaking with. Inspiration struck Gabrielle. She would need to move quickly. Ducking behind the next table, Gabrielle pulled off the apron. She tried an innocent-looking smile for the couple at the table further beyond who seemed surprised by her sudden appearance. The apron she stashed beneath the table, where she hoped the house-elves would find it and put it away.

Gabrielle intercepted Fred before he reached the others. "Fred," she called. It was a little breathless, and louder than she intended. "Eh, excusez-moi. I can have a candy, eh, also?" blurted Gabrielle. Merde, she thought, I am too nervous. And, she wasn't quite certain that the others, that Matty, could hear.

Fred looked at her speculatively. "You want - me - to give you a candy?"

"Eh, oui. Also." Gabrielle emphasized the last. It was the key to the plan.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Not any good at it, are you?" he asked with a grin. Gabrielle swallowed hard. Had Fred seen her in the apron? "Still," continued Fred quietly, "least Ginny will be happy." What, wondered Gabrielle to herself, did that mean? Should she run away?

Fred then started showily searching his odd, green robes. "Minister, this is Gigi, the bride's little sister." Younger, thought Gabrielle, not little. "Gigi, this is Prime Minister Scrimgeour. Say hello, Gigi."

"Hello, eh, Minister. I am, eh, pleased to meet you," said Gabrielle automatically while she mentally bumped Fred up her list.

"Oh, yes, nice to meet you as well. Starting school in a year or two, I suppose?"

"I am starting in ze fall! I got ze letter from Beauxbatons," replied Gabrielle in irritation.

"Ah, here we go. This what you were hoping for?" asked Fred. He held out his hand, which held a piece of black licorice. One that looked very much like the ones in the apron. "Go on, take it, or you shan't have any," added Fred in a singsong. Gabrielle had to take it, of course. She just didn't have to be happy about the attempt to ruin her plan. It was almost as if Fred knew what was coming. "Eat up, dear," ordered Fred in a perfect imitation of his mother.

"Eh," started Gabrielle. What was she to do? "I, eh..." Gabrielle gave up fumbling for an excuse and popped the candy into her mouth. She had realized that she did not need to chew! Gabrielle smiled in triumph, the licorice a big lump in her cheek. The Prime Minister patted her on the head as the two moved on. Gabrielle cringed as she belatedly saw how childish she must have seemed, asking for sweets and then standing there with a sticky piece in her mouth. Hopefully George had not been watching.

Gabrielle watched as Fred and the Prime Minister approached the others. Matty, who had been reluctant to join the conversation with Verity, now stood proudly next to George, her arm linked with his, as the politician approached. The young woman quickly adjusted George's robes. Gabrielle was struck by the fact that George and Fred were already on familiar terms with the Prime Minister. Certainly George had needed no introduction, shaking the older wizard's hand right off. They spoke briefly - George grinned sheepishly at something, then he turned to introduce Matty. Matty smiled, and even from where she stood Gabrielle could see the blackness where the girl's teeth should have been. The Prime Minister froze while reaching for her hand. George froze too, before quickly turning to look at Fred. Then George looked directly at Gabrielle, who suddenly felt very exposed. Matty did not give any indication of noticing that anything was off until she opened her mouth and disappeared behind a thick black cloud.

Matty... exploded. Gabrielle thought perhaps her victim had literally exploded, given the giant cloud of inky smoke that curled to the top of the tent. It was only the accompanying stream of invective that proved Matty was still there. Were those lightning bolts? The Prime Minister beat a hasty retreat. Matty had always maintained a haughty facade before, but now she was screaming at George and Fred using words that made Hermione scold Ron. This was, according to the sulfurous pillar of smoke, the worst humiliation, the death of her life in polite society, and the end of the relationship. Matty declared quite loudly that George would never get anywhere in politics as long as Fred held him back, and it didn't matter anyway as George might as well be a eunuch. She stated quite clearly and firmly that she did not want to see either of them ever, ever, ever again! Then Matty began crying, bawling even. As the smoke cleared, it showed her flopped onto the floor.

Gabrielle, standing with her hands to her face in horror, now wished she could take back her actions. She had not wanted this - she had just wanted Matty to stop talking over her. Matty was a picture of misery, and Gabrielle could well imagine how she felt, having suffered through the many repetitions of The List. That she had done something as Fleur would do also gnawed at Gabrielle's conscious.

The seething arrival of a red-faced Mrs. Weasley did nothing to reduce Gabrielle's sudden guilt. The matriarch lambasted both George and Fred for breaking their promises, for ruining Fleur's wedding dinner, and for treating Matty so poorly. Mrs. Weasley attempted to comfort Matty, but they disappeared in another dark cloud as the young socialite rejected all things Weasley. Matty stormed off, the twins shrugged, and Mrs. Weasley reached gale force. Finally, Fred was dragged off by the ear. That left George standing alone in the center of whispering attention. And Gabrielle.

v - v - v - v - v

Snape headed down the stairs to the Malfoy workroom, needing both a palliative for his stomach and now one for his head. His mind still struggled with the plans the Dark Lord had shared; the sheer number of details and contingencies were overwhelming. Any parliamentary system, the Dark Lord had asserted, contains the seeds of its own destruction. The Dark Lord may disdain muggles, thought Snape, but he had studied their political history enough. The first step was to break the majority, so that coalitions were a necessity. The WASI party part of this, as was the inciting and funding of infighting within stronger factions. Once a weak coalition was in power and under considerable political strain, the right national emergency, and the ruling coalition's collapse, would lead to the call to use emergency powers and for ruling by decree. The right Minister to restore public confidence, and a new majority, would lock in the gains. It would play out over mere months. The giants, Snape now understood, were to be that national emergency. That they were now food for plaice was deemed a minor setback. At least, thought Snape, minor to the Dark Lord. The remaining giants, and whomever had to inform them, might offer another view. Other circumstances would be found, the Dark Lord had asserted. Possibly on the surprising jaunt to the continent he intended to make, as if the magical restrictions to that were nothing. Snape held out the hope that Dickinbottom's corporeal form would give out in some dismal part of eastern Europe. The Dark Lord's obsession with finding Wormtail and now, of all things, a children's tale, was completely at odds with his shrewd political maneuvers. It was, thought Snape, unbalancing. Perhaps intentionally so.

The potions master reached the bottom of the stairs, and paid no mind to the yeti gliding along the woodwork. Until, that is, it grabbed at him. The yeti, despite its fearsome looks, was not a predator. Being dead had certainly not improved its reactions. Snape dropped beneath the beast's now filthy arms, and summoned a python to tangle its legs. The former professor made to stand when he felt a wand at his throat.

"Why, Severus? Tell me, why?" hissed an agitated Narcissa. "You swore a vow to keep Draco safe."

Snape finished getting to his feet. The yeti toppled backward, grabbing at nothing with outstretched arms. "Draco's safety was forfeit when he took the Dark Lord's Mark!" said Snape harshly. He sighed at Narcissa's sob, and added, "There are only two places of any safety now: at the Dark Lord's immediate side, where he won't be risked in pointless assaults on muggles, or hidden so far away, so completely, that Draco might as well be dead." The yeti subsided, so the former head of Slytherin house waved off the snake.

"He - he trusts you, Severus," said Narcissa. It is to hope, thought Snape, if she meant the Dark Lord. If she meant Draco, he wished the boy had trusted him more.

"If it goes to plan, Draco will lose nothing. If not, he will lose nothing that cannot be... replaced." That brought forth a small moan from the boy's mother. "Draco has agreed - he believes it is a way to be here to protect you and, perhaps, earn Lucius' freedom." It was unfortunate, thought Snape, that Draco was still young enough to seek a father. The pain and conflict radiating from Madame Malfoy was easy to read.

"Draco owled with some good news," announced Narcissa awkwardly to change the topic. Snape frowned at this lapse in security. There were enemies both within and without. "The old Black family house-elf is willing to serve at the manor. "

"The old Black family house-elf," repeated Snape slowly, as if that would help it make sense. "Kreacher? Potter's elf?" he asked in growing alarm. What has Draco done? Will no one else think?

"Draco says it was recently freed. I've gotten a lot better, of course, but I could use the help," said Narcissa. She indicated the hunting trophy's still form. "I can't quite manage stairs with my helpers - I just let them tumble down. It's hard on the balusters."

Snape ignored Narcissa's babbling as it was only to cover her faux pas of the attack on him. It was possible, thought Snape, that Potter had freed the elf. Potter had the temper for it, secrets or not. He, personally, would have banished the loathsome creature to a damp drainpipe for its treachery. Whether it was freed or not, however, there was no real possibility of stumbling across Draco by chance. Relief from the vindaloo would have to wait.

v - v - v - v - v

George turned to face Gabrielle, and Gabrielle panicked. Would George be mad about what had happened to Matty? Did he know to blame her? She feared he would - his brother had. What was she to do with Fred's candy that was still in her mouth? George had a grim, determined look on his face and he drew his wand. With a sharp intake of breath, knowing that he knew she had done the deed and was angry, Gabrielle almost swallowed the candy.

Almost swallowed, unfortunately, was synonymous with choking. Why did this happen now? Gabrielle's hands went from her face to her throat - she couldn't breathe properly! She turned away. Her eyes watered and she gagged. Would she die from the licorice or mortification first? Where was Maman and Papa?

"_Anapneo_," called out George, poking his wand into her abdomen as he came up behind her. Of course, thought a reddening Gabrielle, it would be him. The black sweet came up and out of her throat, bouncing along the floor. At least, thought Gabrielle, what to do with that was resolved. It may as well have been the mature, proper image she had wanted him to see laying there wetly on the floor as well. "All right luv?"

Gabrielle nodded and wiped her eyes, but she could not face George yet. She could hear in his voice the grin that would be on his face, as he tried desperately not to laugh at her. Again. The chance for a perfect moment had past; now she would be lucky if the twins didn't hate her for what she had done.

"Give us a hand then?" asked George quite normally, and Gabrielle's felt a surge of affection. George was so sweet, he would never humiliate her, and he was always there to save her. She wiped her eyes again. He would make her confess, of course, to save Fred from his own mother, and she would be banished to her room forever, but she would do it.

"Oui, of course. I, eh -" When she turned to face George and accept her fate, Gabrielle found George's arm thrust into her face, the hand holding the sleeve taut.

"Hold the cuff away from my arm," directed George.

Gabrielle squinted, "Eh, what?"

"The sleeves on this robe sag more'n Fred's - er... on a hot day. It's driving me balmy." Gabrielle held the sleeve, with its velvet trim, not really understanding. It was a very good fabric; Gabrielle could tell that much. It was soft and light, but with a nice drape as well. It smelled like scorched hair when George ran his wand around his arm at his shoulder, the sleeve drooping off. Gabrielle's mouth dropped open in surprise as she stared at the severed cloth.

"That's one!" smiled George in triumph. " next one might get a bit sticky," he warned as he switched the wand to his other hand and held out his covered arm.

"George! What 'ave you done? Ze robe! It is -"

"Lopsided, I know. We can fix that." The remaining sleeve was fanned in front of Gabrielle. She had to admit that the robe did look its worst like that, so she held the attached sleeve as before. The thought came to her that this might make her an accomplice. "That's the way, and - ah, ah! Merlin, that's hot," complained George. The remaining sleeve dropped away. George rubbed his singed arm. "Doesn't feel too bad. How's it look?"

Gabrielle wondered if he meant the robes, which looked extremely silly with his pale arms sticking out where the sleeves used to be, or the arm itself, which was thicker than her father's, muscled, and, Gabrielle felt her face begin to heat up, inviting. She could not tell George that! She was relieved that he did not appear to be angry with her. There was still a chance after all, decided Gabrielle. Perhaps she should compliment his mangled robes. If she said his look was unique it would not be a lie. Then, imagined Gabrielle, she could note how freely he could move. That would be the time to ask him to dance! George could hardly say no then. Gabrielle smiled, until she realized that George had said something to her. "Eh, what?"

"I said, veux-tu que je danse, uh... Or something like that," said George. His ears, noted Gabrielle, were a little pink. Was he worried that she would refuse? He had asked in French also. Not good French, but passable, and he had used the familiar form. Tell him yes, reminded a second thought. "That's what this is all about, right?"

"Yes. No. Eh, yes first, please, and zen no," said Gabrielle. Was that right? She took a steadying breath. "Yes, I would like to dance."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle decided that George was the best dancer among the Weasley brothers. Unlike Ron, George paid attention to where they moved. Unlike Charlie, George at least acted like he wanted to dance, not holding her at arm's length like she smelled funny. And unlike Fred, Gabrielle was actually able to enjoy the slow, lilting waltz. She had not danced with Bill, but she just knew that that would not be better. Gabrielle especially liked that she could dance as close as she wanted. She imagined she could even lean her head against George's chest, not that she would dare. They could finally talk in a private little world - if only Gabrielle could think of something to say.

"Wha-hey! Fleur's caught up to Fred again," said George as if describing a quidditch play. The closeness also meant that George spoke quietly right into her ear, which tickled and made her heart beat faster. Gabrielle wished that George had not brought up his brother, though. She promised herself that she would feel guilty later if she could enjoy the moment now.

Gabrielle knew that she had to say something. "Is it, eh, because of the brie?"

"No, I wouldn't think so. The cheese is labelled and colored. It'd take a real dafty to think - er, that is, with the label..." Gabrielle decided to ignore that, since there had not been any indication on the cheese at the time. Besides the obvious color. "Fred helped himself to some photos. Allegedly."

"Ze wedding photgraphs?" asked Gabrielle. Was he going to charm horns and a mustache on Fleur? That, thought Gabrielle, was a very childish thing to do. How sad Fred was.

"No, not those dull things. He's got one of someone covered in porridge, another of someone going for a swim, and even one where this certain someone's talking to a bird while dripping like a used mop! He nicked all the good ones. Uh, allegedly."

Gabrielle did not know what to say to that. The embarrassing pictures in the hands of the twins was only marginally better than them being in her sister's possession. At least the photos would stay in Britain! She needed to change the topic. "Why did Fred want zem anyway?" she asked herself. And, unintentionally, her dance partner.

"'Cuz they're a bloody riot, of course. And, he didn't think Fleur deserved them," explained George. "That is -"

"Allegedly?" suggested Gabrielle. Fred, thought Gabrielle, did not want Fleur to have them? He was helping her, protecting her even, and then she had set him up. Now she would have to feel extra guilty. Later. Gabrielle shifted herself closer; she could just begin to pick up George's scent.

"Mum's beside herself," noted George conversationally after a little while. "We let her put a geas on us, forbidding pr-, pr-, er, can't even say the word. No manufactured comedic moments, you see? She wouldn't be able to do it without our permission - now she thinks Fred lied to her. Mum's doesn't handle betrayal well." Now Gabrielle would have to feel guilty for poor Mrs. Weasley as well. George sighed, "And Fred always loved Sunday dinners with the family. Now he'll be banished, bereft, b-"

"Can we talk about somezing else?" blurted Gabrielle, and she promptly turned pink. One could not have a perfect moment if one was constantly being reminded of how horrible a person one was. She felt very warm.

"Too bad for Verity. What a time for a coming-out. Standing there, covered in reminders of Mum's treacherous son's handiwork. Not quite making the right impression, you know? Tsk," added George tragically. Gabrielle found she had a lump in her throat. Would there be anyone who would not hate her? Was George trying to make her miserable? "Matty's father can be a bit nasty politically. I'll need to warn Dad, of course. The Ministry was always good to him, but -"

"I am sorry!' blurted Gabrielle again. "I did it." That could have waited, judged a second thought almost immediately. Don't let go, advised a third thought. Gabrielle added in a whisper, "I - I, eh, wanted -"

"Yeah, I knew that, luv. We dropped the rotten egg smell from the production version," explained George cheerfully. That left Gabrielle confused for a moment, before a second thought explained it. Then she was even more confused, and stopped dancing.

"Zen, eh, zen why - you did not tell Fred?" asked Gabrielle.

"Oh, Fred knows. He made himself a longshot though," replied George. Gabrielle didn't understand the second part at all, but from the first part she knew then that George really had been trying to make her feel awful. Which made her feel awful all over again as she realized that her moment would not be coming. She could feel the tingle in her eye of tears that would make this even worse.

"I, eh, will go now zen and, eh, tell zem," Gabrielle announced bravely. At least they would all hate her for the right reason. Gabrielle stepped back from George. The moment had been so close.

"Oh, don't do that, luv. Fred'll be fine," assured George. He pulled Gabrielle back to him, closer than she had even dared. His arm was able to reach around her waist. Gabrielle felt very warm again, a little light-headed, and completely confused.

"But you, eh, said zat zey will, eh, all of zem, feel badly, very much, and -"

"Yeah, but I never said that they wouldn't get over it, did I?"

"No, but, eh... I do not understand," admitted Gabrielle, feeling a bit stupid. She did like the feel of his strong arm around her, and he smelled so nice.

"You know, Fred'll be getting his own back for this," warned George. "Weasley pride and reputations to uphold."

"No," said Gabrielle quickly. "Fred did somezing wizz my dinner, eh, first. I had no dessert! And I , eh..." Gabrielle stopped. She did not really think this was a good time to describe what had happened in the bathroom.

"Ah, sorry luv. Fred really is under a geas. And, Merlin, does he whinge on about it. He couldn't manufacture a comedic moment."

Gabrielle was not sure she believed this. "What about ze, eh, inkpot?"

"Mmm," considered George. "Probably not his intent, I'll say. That's kind of a loophole in these things. Sometimes things just happen." He shrugged his shoulders. The movement slid his hand along Gabrielle's side and left her with gooseflesh. That made it a little difficult to think. If Fred was not the one who tried to make her explode at dinner, puzzled Gabrielle, then who had? No one else had been similarly affected, least no one she had noticed, so that meant the prank was done as the dinner was served. That, concluded Gabrielle, cleared Ron of any suspicion. Gabrielle wished she had known to pay attention. Someone would have had to slip away, again and again, to the kitchen to...

Or they would need an accomplice in the kitchen, realized Gabrielle. The torrent of apologies and hysteria from Geff came to mind, and suddenly made a lot more sense. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, I am not sorry for Fred after all. That still left Verity and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, reminded the treacherous thought. "Eh, when did your mozzer put ze, eh, geas on Fred?" asked Gabrielle nonchalantly.

"Well before the ceremony, if you're thinking that's why you fell in," George said with a wink.

"No, my rock was small, very small, and, eh, slipping," explained Gabrielle. And not flat enough, now that she thought back on it, but that was beside the point. "Fred had ze house-elves help," accused Gabrielle.

George gave her a toothy grin. "Not just a beautiful face, are you? Dad always said not to go for looks alone." Gabrielle gave only a passing thought to the implied corroboration of her suspicions, and the further implication that George was in on the conspiracy with his brother. There were more important things to focus on! One was the compliment. Beautiful, thought Gabrielle. Not cute like a kid, or pretty like a girl, but beautiful like a mature young woman. The goose eggs were working! The other point was that he would 'go' for her. First George was interested in her, remembered Gabrielle, and now he would pursue her. That was practically a declaration of love. No, another part of her tried to warn, it isn't. Gabrielle smiled up warmly at the tall ex-beater. This was it; the time had come! Her eyes locked with his - the perfect moment! Gabrielle tilted her head just so... closed her eyes... parted her lips...

She opened one eye in a squint. She was still several centimeters from her goal. It was not helped by George's curious stare and lack of cooperation. That seemed strange given his recent confession. Not really, suggested the treacherous thought. Hermione, thought Gabrielle, was right: some boys need a billboard. Fortunately, Gabrielle saw that all was not lost. "Eh, we will go over zere, please," requested Gabrielle as she indicated the table near the edge of the dancing area, and its all-important chair.

"You feeling all right, luv?" asked George. Gabrielle didn't bother with an answer. She put a foot on the chair and jumped. "What are you - mmf." Gabrielle wrapped her arms around George's neck and her legs around his trunk. Her lips met his, which were in approximately the correct position. At least, from what she could determine from spying on Fleur. Gabrielle kissed George, right on the lips, and then kissed him again and again as he staggered back from the impact, until finally she was sure, very sure, that he had kissed her back. It was a perfect moment.

Even such a moment, however, could not last long. Especially since Gabrielle was slowly slipping down, as George was not actually holding her up. It was her Veela heritage, diagnosed Gabrielle. He was of course stunned by her vivaciousness. Finally, she gave up and let her legs drop to the ground. Then she quickly pushed the hem of her dress back down. There had better not be a photo of that! George was looking very pink in the face, and a little unfocused. "Je t'aime aussi," she whispered. He had better be used to me before our wedding, noted Gabrielle with concern.

Just then Gabrielle spotted her father making his way toward them, already half way across the tent. Oh Merlin, groaned Gabrielle inwardly. He is going to be so embarrassing. She would just have to intercept him. Gabrielle looked at George again, then gently pushed him backward until he sat down in the chair. He was mumbling - something was 'carried away.' It would have to wait.

Gabrielle met her father with a squeal and a hug. "Papa!" she cried happily, then smiled the extra wide smile that Fleur always said made her look hopelessly naive. Papa liked it, though, thought Gabrielle. It had always worked before.

"(My baby, are you hurt?)" asked Monsieur Delacour. "(I will teach that scapegrace to manhandle you!)" He moved to step around Gabrielle.

Gabrielle moved to block him. "(Papa! Stop that. You are being silly. I am not hurt.)" Smile, Gabrielle reminded herself. "(Will you, eh, dance with me?)"

"(I never should have allowed this. Fleur, you mother - they are too romantic. I can see the true nature of these Weasleys. Look what they have done to their own escorts! And now to, to touch you!)" ranted her father. Gabrielle rolled her eyes; at least no one was very close. "(Even your mother can not forgive this much.)"

Gabrielle looked back from where her father had come charging. Her mother certainly looked angry - but not at Fred! With alarm, Gabrielle could see that her mother was clearly addressing a distraught Mrs. Weasley. It was supposed to be Fred, thought Gabrielle, not poor Mrs. Weasley, who believed one son had betrayed her and who would find out in the morning that another was lost. What, regretted Gabrielle, have I done? I am the one who betrayed her; I am ruining everything. That thought echoed with Fleur's voice, and it stung. There was only one thing to do. Gabrielle grabbed her father's arm. "(Come, Papa,)" she ordered with her imperial wave.


	36. The Morning's Breakfast

Chapter Thirty-six - The Morning's Breakfast

Gabrielle woke up the next morning a little stiff, a little sore, and a little disoriented. It took a moment for her to remember where she was: under the table behind the sofa. It was the Hell her good intentions had led her to. Gabrielle was there because Ginny would not help drag Yvette from the bed, nor would Ginny share her own bed. Gabrielle's now-former coven sister was angry because Gabrielle's confession had lost her ten galleons. Fleur's bed was unused, but it was too close to Fleur's other things and Gabrielle was not allowed to use it. Hermione had demurred, citing 'allergies'. She might be out of the coven too, thought Gabrielle, except that it really wasn't possible to have a coven of one. Charlie had taken Bill's bed, and was not about to give it up, but at least he had given her the charmed blanket. It was, thankfully, freshly laundered.

In hindsight, ruminated Gabrielle as she massaged her sides, admitting to the prank had not fixed much, if anything. Ginny was extremely annoyed with her for ruining her winning wager. Mrs. Weasley was angry with her for ruining the match-making, though she was the only one who regretted Matty leaving. Papa was angry mostly because she had kissed George. Maman was doubly furious, since she had been scolding Mrs. Weasley for the way she had allowed the twins to grow up. Fleur was nearly incandescent because Maman's punishment was for Gabrielle to be Fleur's house-elf for a week, to help with the new house. Fred, at least, was willing to forgive, since he had dodged taking a big loss on the payout. Gabrielle did not think George was angry with her; he had taken a seat at the bar the last she had seen him. The thought cheered her mood.

Gabrielle scratched her ear, dislodging a red ball of yarn. She did not like that and hoped that it would not become a habit, but she would not say anything to Pepi-Z right now. Poisseux, with Pepi-Z in his spellotape mouth, had come tick-ticking down the stairs shortly after the last of the lights had dimmed. They had come to keep her company in her exile, and she appreciated that.

Gabrielle did not appreciate waking up with the furry backside of Crookshanks in her face. He had, by her estimates, caused half of the trouble she had had. When the cat had arrived, and why, was a mystery. Perhaps he preferred the charmed blanket to his other choices. The blanket felt much, much thicker than it was, and one side was magically warmed. It was large enough for Gabrielle to lay on and also fold over herself. It would have been very cozy if it had not been for the rejection that necessitated it. An auror's best friend, claimed Charlie. He had not explained further.

Pulling open the neck of the quidditch jersey, Gabrielle inspected Mrs. Udderly's contributions. She was very glad that Ginny had not noticed that she had kept them, but Gabrielle was now a little concerned they had been mashed flat overnight. They were not, so Gabrielle slipped on her housecoat and Ginny's woolen socks, then crawled out. The Burrow was still silent, noted Gabrielle, and it did not seem as cold this morning. She had slept soundly for the first time in days. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, she could ask Papa for such a blanket. Once, of course, Papa got used to George and ceased being ridiculous. A blanket was surely easier to acquire than the invisibility cloak she needed. Gabrielle folded the blanket up, topped it with her undead pets, and headed up the stairs.

Ginny was still in bed, her pillow over her head. Yvette was shifting around under the leather robes. "Ils sont ici - attend, no. Uhnn, ma tête..." complained the leather-covered lump.

Ginny turned out not to be asleep. "Tell her to shut up. I don't care about her tit - it's too bloody early."

"She is your roommate. You tell her," huffed Gabrielle. "You should get a book, aussi, like George."

"If I had the - galleons - I would," retorted Ginny. Ginny, thought Gabrielle, could ruin any morning.

"(Is that you, Gerb- um, Gi-)" started Yvette, poking her head out from beneath the robe. She looked a little green.

"(It is Gabrielle!)" snapped Gabrielle, making the petite witch wince.

"(My head is killing me,)" moaned Yvette. There was no sympathy for her. "(I can't find my underwear.)" Oh gross, thought Gabrielle. It seemed to Gabrielle that the bedraggled mess before her was beginning to look clammy.

"(You should look on Ginny's bed,)" suggested Gabrielle. Hopefully Yvette would get up before she was sick.

Yvette ignored her. "(You wear this? How old are you?)" She thrust out one of Fleur's horrors.

Gabrielle reddened. "(I have, eh, outgrown those, of course. I am almost, eh, twelve,)" fudged Gabrielle. She tried for haughty.

"(You are a child. It is not fair,)" complained Yvette, looking sourly, and pointedly, at Gabrielle's chest. That made Gabrielle blush again when she realized it.

Ginny noticed the gaze also. "Elle is faux," she tried. Piercing daggers launched from Gabrielle's eyes failed to materialize and kill the redhead. "You know those have to go back," teased Ginny.

"(Who is that?)" asked Yvette. "(She has been very rude.)"

"(That is Ginny; she is like that. She was in the wedding party,)" answered Gabrielle. 'Are you going to leave?' was Gabrielle's next thought, but she managed to not blurt it out. It sounded too brusque. On the other hand, Gabrielle did not have anything else to say.

"Oy, what're you lot saying?" demanded Ginny.

"(I am sorry - I, um, could use a toilet, now,)" said Yvette sheepishly.

"(It is the next door down the hall,)" said Gabrielle quickly. She stepped further into the room to give Yvette a clear path in case an emergency dash was required.

Yvette gathered Charlie's leather robe around her and got unsteadily to her feet. "(I'll just, um, wash up a bit,)" she announced weakly, looking worse than before. Gabrielle stepped back again. Yvette padded from the room holding the robes up so the front wouldn't drag.

"How long do you think that one'll be hanging on?" asked Ginny.

Gabrielle did not know, nor did she much care. Her plan was to get dressed and get out before there was any cleaning up to help with. "You should ask Charlie zat." Gabrielle pulled on the denims. She picked out the tighter green jumper this time, in case George came to breakfast. She knew she was angling for more compliments, but justified it to herself as a way to give George more time to get used to her. Before her wedding. Which would be in, eh, six years. Gabrielle deflated.

There was an unexpected problem. The dress had its own charmed-in support; the jumper did not. Things were a lot less... prominent than before. Having not faced this situation naturally, Gabrielle lacked the clothing needed to address it. Them. Ginny, thought Gabrielle, was likely to have what she needed. It was just unfortunate that the older girl was a red-headed pixie in the morning.

"Eh, Ginny? I, eh, need to borrow ze brassiere. Eh, please," asked Gabrielle.

"You can't keep those on forever. You'll get a rash," warned Ginny. "You really don't want to have an itch, er, there. And there's a deposit on them."

"I know zis. I want, only, to-"

"Everyone knows they're fake, you know," added Ginny. Gabrielle knew that, but most people were polite enough not to say it. "Those do make you look nice, though. Older."

This is what is confusing about Ginny, thought Gabrielle. Was she a friend or not? "Eh, zank you. I can -"

"Get rid of the slag and her groaning so I can sleep, and you can take what you need," interrupted Ginny. "Erm, keep her out of my knickers, though."

Gabrielle did not see why she should be responsible for Yvette, except that she really was, in a very small way, the reason the thin blond was here. It should, judged Gabrielle, be Charlie's problem. While Gabrielle considered her options, an anguished wail tore the quiet. It startled Gabrielle; Ginny sat bolt upright.

"I am not cleaning zat!" blurted Gabrielle.

"I think that was Mum," said Ginny anxiously. "Something's happened." Ginny swung her bare legs off the bed, then flopped backward and covered her eyes. "It's Percy; Dad's just told her. I know it." Ginny curled her legs back up and covered her head again. That, thought Gabrielle, is so helpful.

Gabrielle felt awful for Mrs. Weasley. And somewhat guilty, since the first thought that had crossed her mind was that Mrs. Weasley would probably forget about being angry with her. Gabrielle vowed to help the Weasley matron all day. After Fleur was finished with me, of course, thought Gabrielle. It would be a long day.

Yvette stumbled back into the room. She looked less pale and her hair was neater, but her eyes were still bloodshot. "(Did you hear that?)"

"(Of course we did,)" replied Gabrielle more loudly than necessary. Yvette grimaced. Gabrielle laid her housecoat and the quidditch jersey on the bed very deliberately, reclaiming her rights. She moved the folded blanket to the bed as well. Now it was almost completely protected.

"(Um, what is that?)" asked Yvette, trying for a cheery tone and pointing at Poisseux. She bent closer to examine the toad.

"(That is, eh, my toad.)" Gabrielle did not want to even try to explain further. The two zombies climbed up her lowered arm to her shoulder, the red bobble that was Pepi-Z clenched in the toad's mouth.

"(It smells like spellotape. It is very beautiful,)" smiled Yvette. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, she is not so bad. "(Um, I don't suppose you, um, found my underwear?)"

"(Eh, you are a witch, yes? You can accio them?)"

"(Of course I can. If, um, I had a wand. I had to leave mine at the portkey terminus at Folkestone,)" complained Yvette. "(There was no place to keep it in the dress - oh chier!)" The woman clenched her fists.

"(What is wrong now?)" asked Gabrielle. How long would this stranger stay?

"(I missed the portkey! How in Merlin's name am I going to get home? I, um, do not even know where this place is,)" moaned Yvette.

Gabrielle almost explained to her countrywoman that she was at the Burrow, but then remembered that that had not been very helpful last time. Yvette, decided Gabrielle, had many problems. And none were ones that she could fix, besides helping the red-eyed witch look for the missing underwear. Gabrielle concluded that Charlie should help. First, Gabrielle knew for certain that he had a wand always at the ready. Second, Charlie was living in Romania, so he would know how to get back to the continent. And third, he was probably there when the lingerie was lost. Gabrielle thought about that briefly. Hopefully Ginny knew where there were clean sheets if Mrs. Weasley was not up to it. "(Charlie can help you, I am, eh, sure of it. You can take this blanket up to him an ask,)" smiled Gabrielle. All the problems were solved.

"(Have you lost your mind?)" shouted Yvette. It was something she instantly regretted; she screwed up her face in pain. When she continued, it was in a near-whisper. "(If I go to his room like this, he will think I want to, um... that I am -)"

"(Eh, loose? Like last night?)" asked Gabrielle.

Yvette looked like she might cry. "(You don't need to be like that. I am sorry for everything. Last night I was, um, just, just...)" She trailed off, looking miserable. "(My English is not good anyway.)"

"(He lives in Romania - he can take you home. Eh, he has a wand also, so he, eh, can help you find, eh, things, yes? You liked him last night; he will help you. He is, eh, a Weasley,)" promised Gabrielle. She smiled reassuringly at the sagging form still wrapped in the leather robes. Then Gabrielle smiled a bit more, waved her hand, and ordered, "(Go to him.)"

That got no response. Gabrielle suddenly remembered the devotions pictured in the woodcuts in her Grandmere's book, and wondered if she was asking too much of the witch. Or it might be that it was too much unless Yvette was drinking champagne. Gabrielle watched the red-eyed witch bury her head into the robes. Was she going to breakdown? Gabrielle knew the feelings that came with waking up in a strange bed among strangers, although the healers at the hospital could not really be thought of as total strangers. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, I should at least look for the missing underwear.

Yvette, however, was not crying. She appeared to be sniffing the leather of the robes, and emerged with a small, strange smile. "(He is sort of hot.)" It was good, thought Gabrielle, that seer talents were rare. Suppose Yvette learned of Lettie?

v - v - v - v - v

Once Yvette had gone off to Charlie, still covering herself with his robes since, she explained while blushing, she still could not find all the buttons either, and once Gabrielle had managed to borrow a beautiful, lacy bra from Ginny by the simple expedient of snatching it and running, Gabrielle proceeded down the stairs with a demeanor fitting her new image. She tried to ignore the tickle from Poisseux as he shifted about his lair, which was currently between Mrs. Udderly's wonders, and the nascent itch under the left one - Gabrielle blamed Ginny for suggesting that. It was not exactly maintaining the mantle of maturity to carry a toad down one's shirt, thought Gabrielle, but she doubted that anyone would look there. Which, of course, was Ginny's argument as to why she didn't need that particular lacy undergarment. A reason which Gabrielle threw back at her before escaping.

Gabrielle decided she would not leave with Fleur until she had had some coffee. It might be the only joy of the day. And if George were there to -

Gabrielle leaned over the banister silently. She was sure that she had seen a garden gnome slip into the little cupboard under the stairs. One could hardly miss the spot of red, even in the early morning light. Gabrielle hoped it was another box from George. If it were more pranks, Gabrielle knew, they would have to wait until night. After a day with an annoyed Fleur, Gabrielle was sure to need some cheering up.

Setting the coffee-press and beans on the stairs, Gabrielle crept around to the side of the stairs. She yanked open the cupboard door and found... nothing. The storage area was not empty, of course, but there was no evidence of garden gnomes. Almost no evidence, noted Gabrielle. There was the faint odor of soil, which could have, admittedly, come from the big green rubber boots lining one side. There was also a galleon-sized rock. That could have come from the boots also, considered Gabrielle, but perhaps not. "Eh, hello? I have ze 'yella' hair?" called Gabrielle softly. Mostly 'yella', since the locks of Weasley red had yet to fade. She needed to ask George about that. Or even Fred. "I will not hurt you."

"Coo-ee, das good t' 'ear Coop, 'cuz I lost da rock," whispered a muffled voice in obvious relief.

"I ne'er liked ya," growled a second voice in obvious irritation.

"Wot? I'm yer - Ow! Wot ya go an' do dat fer? Hey - is dat da rock?"

"Eh, Coop," tried Gabrielle. "Please, eh, show yourself. Is there a box for me?" She had to wonder what her friends would think of her talking with garden gnomes. There were not any gnomes on the Delacour Manor grounds - Papa was very insistent on that. Would the creatures at home, if she could catch one, speak French?

No gnome appeared at her polite request, but an arm slowly slid out from behind a boot to reach for the rock. They are being stupid, decided Gabrielle. How many times had they seen her before? They are garden gnomes, reminded a second thought. Gabrielle grabbed the dirty little arm and pulled. With teeth, added the second thought, but it was too late. The gnome latched onto the hand holding his arm and bit down, hard. Gabrielle shrieked and jerked upright, hitting her head on the low door frame. This caused her to lose her balance, and she pitched forward into the stacked boxes opposite the boots. The upper boxes toppled onto her. The family clock had not been put into the shed, noted Gabrielle. It landed on her head.

Gabrielle lay still a moment, taking stock of the hurts. The gnome had released her hand, and the appendage did not feel too bad. There was no dripping sensation at least. There would be a lump on her head for sure, knew Gabrielle, and possibly a bruise later on her face from the clock. All the hands on the clock were pointing to 'mortal peril' again. Except for Percy's. The only real worry was the persistent pain in her side when she took a breath. Madame Pomfrey will be upset. And Maman, thought Gabrielle. But if the healer made her rest again, then that was one less day of an angry Fleur.

"Did I kill it Coop?" asked an awed voice near her head. The question struck Gabrielle as somewhat rude, and a bit worrisome. Would it try to finish the job? Gabrielle opened her eyes.

"Ya might want t' ask if'n it'll kill you," sighed the other voice. Gabrielle pushed a box off her. Why were the heavy ones stacked on top? "Eas' now, bigjob. 'E's too dumb t' know, rit?"

Pleading ignorance never worked for Gabrielle, so she was not going to forgive it either. "Is zere a gift or, eh, paper for me? Why are you here?" Gabrielle saw the younger-looking one - was it Pip, Pipe? - bend to pick up the rock. She shifted another box off her and onto the unsuspecting gnome's back, collapsing the creature to the ground.

"Coop! Help me! I can't move me legs!" cried the trapped gnome.

"Shuddup Pipe. Yer rilin' da bigjob," warned Coop. "Now lis'en bigjob, we -"

"It is Gabrielle!" snapped Gabrielle.

The older gnome jumped back at the outburst, and looked around nervously. "Wot is? Where?"

"Moi," explained Gabrielle. The gnome still looked baffled. "My name is Gabrielle."

"It's all goin' dark Coop," complained Pipe.

"Rit, bigjob. If'n ya coul' set anudder o' dem boxes on da grit-sucker -"

"Coop?!"

"Gabrielle," reminded Gabrielle again. It was obvious at this point the neither gnome had a package to carry since there had been two rocks. Coop also carried a red cap in addition to the one he wore. She actually hoped there was no note, because that would probably mean that George would not be there for breakfast.

"Rit, bigjob. Garbiell. We come t' see Gred and Forge on -"

"Ga-bree-ell," corrected Gabrielle.

"Dat were a very 'urtful ting t' say, Coop." muttered Pipe in a small voice.

"Dis is off'al cor' bizin'! I don' got time fer da likes of e'er o' ya," exploded Coop. "Shed was et! He were da bes' an', an', an' he was et!" The older gnome's face crumpled. "Ne'er bin one like 'im. Ne'er."

"Aw Coop..." said the young gnome quietly. He was still pinned by the box.

"Eh, et?" puzzled Gabrielle. It? At?

"Rit doon t' da bone," said Pipe emphatically, and clearly insensitively. Gabrielle wrinkled her nose in disgust and horror - oh.

"Rit, danks fer dat mud-fer-brains. Now see, big- Gab-breeee-all, we jes' wanna see Gred an' Forge, so's - crap!" Coop suddenly dove for the boots, ducking behind them and tipping one on top of the wedged Pipe.

"Oh, it's you, Gabrielle," said Mr. Weasley. His brow glistened with sweat. "I heard the noise. Are you all right?"

"Oui, eh, yes. I am fine," said Gabrielle. Mostly fine. She got to her knees. "I, eh, I was -"

"Coop! Dun leave me. Coop?'

"What was that?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Eh, zey are part of zee Second Corps of Guarding Gnomes," replied Gabrielle.

"Ah. I used to play with garden gnomes when I was a lad. Keep them outside, there's a girl."

"No, zey guard ze house, you see?" The air suddenly smelled of smoke.

"Good, but outside, please. If - Blast!" Mr. Weasley turned and headed off toward the kitchen. Gabrielle trailed after him, because she wanted to make sure Mr. Weasley understood that she was too mature to - play - with garden gnomes.

Mr. Weasley practically broke into a run once he entered the kitchen, and charged into the kitchen proper. Since Gabrielle saw her parents were already at the table, and she saw that her Maman's face tightened at the sight of her, Gabrielle followed the Weasley patriarch.

The scene within gave Gabrielle a shock. It might, thought Gabrielle, be too dangerous in here. The kitchen proper was in a shambles, filled with smoke, and Mr. Weasley had his wand trained on a silver metal box, which was spitting sparks. Small black lumps that were scattered across the floor and the crowded worktable smouldered still. It looked to Gabrielle like nearly every pan, every bowl had been used. "Oh mon Dieu! What has happened?" she exclaimed. Mrs. Weasley will be so angry.

Mr. Weasley glanced briefly at her before returning a watchful eye to the silver box, looking as guilty as a child caught sneaking a biscuit. "I think that's sorted now. Breakfast should be up soon," he said with an optimistic tone. Gabrielle had her doubts.

"Zat is a toaster," pointed Gabrielle. A muggle toaster, or at least it looked like one. It still had it's plug. The Touliers had one. Theirs had a plug that worked, of course, and it burned her toast, but it burned her toast the same way each and every time. And, the Touliers' toaster did that without any resentment or gloating at all.

"Oh, you know about them? Er, got this one in Kent. I rather fancied the idea of the knob," explained Mr. Weasley. "I was thinking Molly might take to it if the bread loaded itself. Er, haven't quite got that completely ironed out."

Gabrielle could see what was going on. Mrs. Weasley would not be coming down because she was too upset. There were still guests to feed though, so Mr. Weasley was trying to go on as if everything was normal. And he was making more of a mess of it than a troll would. A thought occurred to Gabrielle. She could really ingratiate herself to the Weasleys by helping out in this time of need. Maman would be forced to admit, foresaw Gabrielle, the obvious maturity and generosity she would be displaying. Maman would be compelled to tell Fleur to be nice all day. It was ironic, noted a second thought, that one would work like a house-elf to avoid being treated as one. A third thought added, house-elf?

An even better plan came to Gabrielle. "Geff! Come out here, eh, please?"

"Oh, you haven't let those gnomes into the kitchen, have you? They'll make such a, er, mess, er." Mr. Weasley looked around sheepishly.

Geff did not appear, which Gabrielle considered rude. "I know zat you are up zere, Geff." The house-elf had responded to her last night. Why not now? Gabrielle turned to Mr. Weasley. "You are ze master of ze house, yes? Call for Geff," she ordered in annoyance.

Mr. Weasley looked surprised at her sudden demand. "Geff? Who, or possibly what, is -"

The old elf popped into existence between them. "Geff is here, Mister Wheez-lee."

"Good gracious, a house-elf!" blurted Mr. Weasley. He looked over the elf at Gabrielle. "Er, I suppose you know why there's a house-elf here?"

"Eh, no. Not exactly." She had been too injured at the time to care. "Please, eh, tell Geff zat he must listen to me, and we will make ze breakfast." Gabrielle smiled at Mr. Weasley, and nearly cackled. It was perfect. She could make amends for the prank, get back a little at Geff, and not even have to work too hard.

"Ah, I, er, couldn't ask you to do that. You're are guest," argued Mr. Weasley.

"Eh, please," wheedled Gabrielle. She raised her hand in case she had to resort to that.

"Well... if you're keen, I suppose. We'll all help together, all right?"

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape stormed back and forth across the workroom, his hands gripping the ratty parchment as if it were his desired victim's throat. He lightened his steps as he approached the cauldron, more out of habit than necessity. The frothing mixture within was nearly the right color. Not that the potions master much cared whether Yardley and Smoltz were revived or not, but they might offer a clue to Draco's whereabouts. Unknowingly, suspected Snape.

The clenching of the parchment was doing nothing for his shoulder, which the former professor had injured on the short, quick flight to, more the landing at, the boundary of the Malfoy wards. Caution then gave way to expediency, and he had apparated back to the Death Eater bivouac at the disused factory. Snape had had a moment of self-doubt when he found the wards still up. A house-elf could apparate, or whatever it is they did, past the wards, just as at Hogwarts. Breaching the magic was possible also, given the unknown of house-elf magic. Carrying off Draco through them without setting off the protections was not. The uncertainty was dispelled when he came upon the comatose pair, and the tea setting for three. The note, written in the untidy scrawl that made Severus long for red ink, was confirmation. It read, 'What would you get if you add powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood? - HP.' Scrawled below that was, 'Stuff it you greasy git.' Ronald Weasley's contribution, no doubt.

It was obvious the tea had been tampered with. The over-confident fools had probably drunk a toast to the illustrious Dark Lord, never even questioning the how or why of the house-elf's arrival. An attitude borne of abusing hapless muggles, instead of learning the caution needed to deal with other wizards, with the Dark Lord. The message on the parchment told Snape two culprits, and the means used. The fact that he had to trust said contents, as the adulteration was otherwise undetectable, conjured up another accomplice: Granger.

That was not surprising given the close association over the past six years. Nor was their target, which Snape suspected was actually himself. The surprise was the plan itself; to use Draco against him. A touch more subtle than screaming curses, thought Snape dryly. The execution of their raid was a shock as well. The Gryffindors had made no attempt to hide their identity; why should they? It was, in fact, the point. But to slip past these particular wards, leaving them intact - well, considered Snape, it should have taken weeks of cautious probing, far more practical experience than they could possibly have, and a level of magical talent that, he forced himself to admit, Granger might one day approach. It was worrisome from a personal point of view. Although, if these new-found capabilities were directed at the Dark Lord, oddly reassuring. He could only hope that the foray was some sort of response to the package left at the quidditch shop.

v - v - v - v - v

The breakfast preparations were going well. Geff set about cleaning up Mr. Weasley's wreckage in a desultory manner. He washed the pots and pans by hand, but it took no more than a single wipe to leave the cookware spotless. Why then, thought Gabrielle, did he have to be so snippy about it? The preparations went even better after Gabrielle insisted that Mr. Weasley entertain his guests. The toaster, even with the knob carefully and repeatedly adjusted, kept firing smoking shards of toast across the kitchen proper with a loud bang each time. Gabrielle's batch of waffle batter had nearly been ruined; she had had to pick the charred bread shrapnel out with a spoon. The mix was still a bit speckly, but Gabrielle doubted anyone would notice once it was cooked.

The departure of Mr. Weasley also made Gabrielle less self-conscious about explaining to the waffle-maker what it was that she wanted. She had a vision, an inspiration, of each plate having a wide boulevard of bacon, flanked by eggs, ending at an upright representation of the Eiffel Tower, done in waffle. Except the waffle-maker could not quite get the shape right. Gabrielle finally sketched a picture for the appliance, showing it to every side of the device since she could not even be sure it had eyes. The shapes were better afterwards, but they still looked more like a letter 'A' with a hat than the landmark.

Gabrielle set Geff the task of cooking the bacon and eggs. She also had him make the tea, as the kettle refused to believe her when she told it that Mrs. Weasley was indisposed. Geff did not argue with the metal face at all. He simply aimed a finger at the kettle and it fell silent. Gabrielle helped with the remaining cleaning after witnessing that.

It took a bit longer than she wanted to prepare her masterpieces because the eggs did not give her the effect she was looking for. Toast, not from Mr. Weasley's explosive, shiny metal box, had to be cut up to make buildings. Gabrielle decided that the fried eggs might be tables at an outdoor cafe, but then they needed little chairs, which had to be carved out of apples, and tiny plates, sliced from grapes. Everything was out of scale though, and she had nicked herself with the knife. Thankfully Aunt Laurel had left last night - she had that thing about knives.

Gabrielle, with a reluctant Geff's help, brought the plates out to the table. Hermione and Ron were now there. Hermione wore a handkerchief around her neck and sat next to Ron, with a frosty gulf between them. Gabrielle suspected that that would be the end of the territory-marking, or the end of Ron. Mr. Weasley was quite impressed with her handiwork; her father was as effusive as always. Maman complimented the originality, and then inspected the bloody fingerprint on the rim of the plate ruefully. Gabrielle began to have doubts, as Mr. Weasley assured Maman that his wife appreciated all the help Gabrielle had been, as to whether the breakfast had been a good idea. After all, a helpful person would be the one sent to, well, help. This might, worried Gabrielle, make Maman less likely to forgo her punishment. Perhaps there could be another fire in the kitchen; she could always blame the errant toaster.

There was also the slippery slope of breakfast in general to face. Hermione had admired Gabrielle's artistic aspirations. Gabrielle still desired the older girl's acceptance and approval, even though the alleged allergies were not evident, which meant a plate for her. But one for Hermione would also mean one for Pickle. That would be okay as there were plenty of the early, misshapen waffles for him to clean up. However, fretted Gabrielle, what if the free-loading aurors started turning up? Even with Geff's help that would be a lot of work, especially if there was no guarantee of success. Where was Fleur, anyway? If she arrived now, reasoned Gabrielle, her sister may not want to wait for the breakfast to be finished. Maman would have to change her mind, or she would have to impose on Mr. Weasley. The plan could work after all.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle placed the plate in front of Hermione carefully. She had found a melon in the icebox, and carved several red-orange muggle cars out of it, with summer sausage rounds for wheels. Those stood higher than the toast buildings, but at least the vehicles were smaller than the trees. The trees were fashioned from stalks of broccoli, which was simple enough, but they were not very steady. Gabrielle had also found some cakes leftover from the party, which she ate while waiting for the latest building material to come out of the waffle-maker. The morning was looking up.

"This... this is really, erm, something, Beebee," said Hermione looking over the plate.

"No wonder it took so long," complained Ron.

"Ron! You be nice," scolded Hermione. Geff slid the overloaded plate in front of him.

"Oy! What happened to mine?" Ron's plate of food was not arranged in any way, and was in the main a heap of trimmings and rejects. Gabrielle did not feel guilty about that.

"Eh, zee Arc, it, eh, collapsed," claimed Gabrielle. Which was sort of the truth. She had thought of it, but her desire to construct it had collapsed.

"Least there's no green stuff in it, " shrugged Ron. He lifted up a waffle. "This looks like an 'A' - thought it was 'G' for Gigi."

"Non, Pickle. 'G' is for Gabrielle," corrected Gabrielle acerbically.

"S'right Gabbers," said Charlie coming up from behind her. "Don't let 'em pickle on you. Hah!" Gabrielle turned to protest, because that was the worst, but before she could Charlie continued, "I'll have a bit of whatever's frying. Don't bother with the arts and crafts. Simple's enough for me." He sat down next to his father.

Gabrielle decided not to cause a scene in front of her parents, and returned to the kitchen proper with Geff. Once the door closed, though, widened gaps or not, she informed the old house-elf of her opinion of Charlie, his rudeness, and his treatment of Yvette, at length. What - had - he done with Yvette now? Gabrielle would show him. Cabbages and onions went into the pan with the bacon grease - just for starters! The icebox was searched for disgusting things to fry. Gabrielle thought she had a stroke of luck when she found something wrapped in paper and labelled 'blood pudding', but that turned out to be a sausage. It was ugly looking sausage though, so she cut it up and dumped it in. Bits of waffle went in next. Gabrielle imagined she was brewing a potion. Geff added eggs on top of it all behind her back, trying to ruin, or was it fix, the dish. She let it get good and crusty before scraping it onto a plate. It was not attractive. Geff refused to bring the brown mass out.

When Gabrielle brought it out, she discovered that George and Fred had arrived. George had the red cap from Coop. She threw back her shoulders, while noting that everyone save Charlie was using the bubble-head charm. It was the cabbage, supposed Gabrielle sheepishly, and placed the mess in front of Charlie. He poked his fork into it and lifted it to his nose.

"Do you know, brother," said Fred to George in a conspiratorial whisper that was of course loud enough to carry. "I think I might give breakfast a miss."

"Verity fed you up, did she?" asked George with a leer. Fred made a rude gesture.

"Merlin, does this take me back," declared Charlie around the crunch of the burnt waffle. "My first camp, ol' Snouty would cook up whatever was on hand using the dragon fire. To impress the new girls, he would say." He gave Gabrielle a big smile. He is insane, thought Gabrielle.

"I ate," replied Fred. "I wouldn't say I was fed. Verity has views on fiber."

"Is this black pudding? Snouty's grub was never this posh!"

"I can't help but think we made the right choices in life," noted George. "Spot of dung to round out your dining experience there, Chuck?"

"It's even better on a cold, damp morning. Up all night trying to keep the males separated," reminisced Charlie, "you'd eat anything." Gabrielle wondered if Lettie would ever come to know how narrowly she avoided such a fate.

Gabrielle made her way around the table, ignoring her father's warning harumph. "Bon matin, George! And you, Fred. Would you like ze breakfast? Ze, eh, regular breakfast?" She smiled brightly and stuck out her chest, and its additions, just a little bit more. Would they still work? The pose seemed to work as the twins turned to her. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, it was working a little too well. George's gaze was definitely directed below her neck. So was Fred's even, and they stared quizzically at -

Gabrielle spun around. "Non, non, Poisseux. You must stay, eh, still," hissed Gabrielle into the jumper, poking the toad back down.

"She's given them names, Fred," said George with a snort.

"So long as you haven't," muttered Fred. More loudly he asked, "Got one free with a coupon, did she?"

Gabrielle, with the spellotape toad and the woolly bobble once again nestled securely, looked up. , Charlie, and Hermione sat staring at her with open mouths. Ron was almost beneath the table, wiping his eyes. Maman's head bobbed slightly. Merde, cursed Gabrielle to herself. She could not help but blush. She turned back to the twins. They wore identical smirks. Should she explain about the toad?

"(Go upstairs and remove those, those.. things,)" ordered her father, vaguely.

The twins eyed her expectantly, eyes flicking to her chest every few seconds. That was not conducive to a sincere conversation. Gabrielle decided to retreat. "Eh, breakfast, yes. Eh..." she stumbled, before fleeing to the kitchen proper.

v - v - v - v - v

The icebox yielded no more bacon, so Geff was frying sausages. The congealing grease from yesterday came to mind, so Gabrielle decided that George needed a more balanced diet. If, of course, she could find balance in Mrs. Weasley's stores. Gabrielle wondered if she had carved up the only fruit in the house already. There was still some cabbage, and onions, but Gabrielle really did not think that George would turn out to like them like the lunatic Charlie. She wished now that she had not used the broccoli for Hermione's trees; that was an omelette right there. If there was a bright side though, it was this: sausage was a much firmer building material.

Monsieur and Madame Delacour pushed into the kitchen proper just as Gabrielle was attaching the upper waffle spire to the lower sausage buttresses. Her artistic vision had turned out to be more fiddly than expected. The one for Fred leaned a little; it was fine with the toast tucked under two of the corners. The work had required a lot of splicing and trimming, with the now slippery, and doubly treacherous, knife. Pickle was sure to be happy for the left-overs. Gabrielle quickly tucked her hand beneath the table.

"(Gabrielle, it is time for -)" began her mother before being distracted by the rickety, three-level constructions. "(What are - no, I will not ask. Your father and I, we must leave now.)"

"(What? Already?)" asked Gabrielle. "(But, eh, Fleur is not here.)"

"(These are for those Weasley boys, aren't they?)" asked her father unhappily.

"(Henri, please. I have spoken to Arthur and Molly,)" What, wondered Gabrielle, did Maman mean by that? "(You are not to cause Fleur trouble.)"

"(Maman, that is not fair! It was Fleur who -)" Gabrielle stopped when Maman held up a hand suddenly.

"(You will behave for the Weasleys as well. They are full of praise for you; of that I am proud. Do not ruin their trust,)" added Maman.

"(Yes, Maman,)" sighed Gabrielle. The morning's effort was for naught.

"(We will arrange a port-key for you,)" said her father. "(Behave like a - proper - young lady.)"

"(Yes, Papa,)" replied Gabrielle with her head bowed so he could not see her roll her eyes. Did he not realize it was too late, that she and George were destined to be together?

v - v - v - v - v

When Gabrielle emerged with the breakfast sculpture for George, and a mug for him of the muggle coffee he had given her, she noticed two things. The first was that Yvette had turned up, wearing an over-sized shirt and an embarrassed expression, looking a lot less ill. She sat quietly next to Charlie, poking at the cabbage mixture he had shared. Gabrielle wondered if she was trying to be invisible. The other thing Gabrielle saw was that Ginny sat in the seat next to George, which was - her - spot. That would be easy to correct, thought Gabrielle, since Ginny would have to get her own breakfast. Geff carried Fred's more wobbly attempt, and the mug for her.

"Thanks luv," said George. "It's so important to start the day with a well-constructed meal."

"Well-balanced, you mean," offered Hermione, but her trees were still on her plate.

"Mine's neither," noted Fred as he jiggled his plate. "I think the foundation's gone soggy."

"I go for quantity," added Ron.

"Zank you, George," smiled Gabrielle, ignoring Fred. She sat down next to Ginny, who wrinkled her nose. Gabrielle noticed it, and blew on her coffee, toward Ginny, to cool it.

"How can you drink that stuff?" asked Ginny. "There's been dungbombs that's smelled better. That's Harry's seat, by the way." George blew on his mug toward Ginny also.

"No, no one was zere," replied Gabrielle. Oh dear, thought Gabrielle, the coffee is still too hot.

"Stop that," demanded Ginny, waving her hands in front of her face. "And you, git," she added, turning to George.

"Go on, it's no worse than Charlie's cabbage," replied George. "You'd best be nice or you'll be fixing your own." Ha, thought Gabrielle, she will no matter what.

"Aah!" shouted Fred. He rummaged inside his mouth with several fingers and removed a piece of toothpick. Gross. "There's bloody spears in this!"

"Eh, yes. Ze, eh, ze sausage was not long enough," explained Gabrielle.

"Maybe I will anyway," said Ginny. "I'm famished."

"'Oo 'ay 'ere," said Fred, massaging the inside of his mouth. "Gigi will do up a roman aqueduct or something for you."

Ah, thought Gabrielle, I see now. I am not to sit next to George - as if that will derail our hearts! George slapped Fred's head lightly, "Wrong idiom, brother. You mean something like Notre Dame, with waffles as flying buttresses."

"I am, eh, on ze coffee break," asserted Gabrielle. She smiled at Ginny's scowl.

Mr. Weasley and Harry came into the kitchen from the entry hall. "...should do nicely, Harry. It really means a lot to Molly and I," said Mr. Weasley. "I'm sure it's as strong as ever."

"I hope so. You know I'd do anything to help," said Harry.

"Of course, of course. I - oh, dear. I, er, didn't realize there were any guests left," said Mr. Weasley with a touch of annoyance as he looked around the table.

"Oh yeah, Dad. This is, uh, Yvette," said Charlie. He dropped an arm around Yvette that seemed to startle the witch. "She's leaving with me."

"Where did - no, don't answer that," said Mr. Weasley, sitting down.

"Hey, Ginny, er," said Harry. He stood behind Gabrielle for a moment before taking the seat next to her. Gabrielle risked a smirk for Ginny. The older girl was not pleased.

"Hungry Harry? Only, Effy is doing the cooking this morning," offered Ginny.

"I, eh, - Bon matin, Harry. I have ze coffee, eh, still. But, eh, I zink Ginny knows where ze stove is, yes?"

"S' all right, Ginny. I know how to cook. Where's your Mum this morning, then?" asked Harry.

"Thought you'd want to impress Harry Potter, Effy. Maybe another of those muggle petrol platform thingies," suggested Ginny.

"Eh, what? Zey are ze Eiffel Tower!" protested Gabrielle.

"Who's your galleons on, Fred?" asked George.

"Really? I would have thought you'd have seen that before," teased Ginny.

"If it's about our Harry, I'll put it on Ginny," replied Fred. He was carefully feeling each link of sausage before nibbling them.

"What does zat mean? You can get somezing for 'Arry when you get somezing for you!"

"When I can use my wand again, I'll see to you!"

"Ginny! That isn't nice," warned Hermione.

"Aw, don't spoil it," begged Ron.

"Actually, the Fidelius is up," noted Harry.

v - v - v - v - v

It was not a fight; it was not even a scuffle, really. Ginny wanted Harry to switch seats with her, so she could get breakfast or her wand - she had not decided, which meant that there was a moment of opportunity for Gabrielle to take Ginny's seat. It was just some pushing, almost light-hearted. Except that Ginny's stupid elbows were really hard. At least Ginny was sorry for it. Gabrielle did not think her nose was broken, it just stung and brought tears to her eyes. Tears that were dried by George, so it wasn't all bad. Fred demanded his galleons.

Of course, George could not help himself, and Gabrielle soon sported a small elephant's trunk. It was ridiculous, but also very useful as it could spray coffee accurately up to a meter. And then Fleur had walked in.

There was a general retreat from the room. Everyone, save Mr. Weasley, Charlie, and Yvette, were suddenly interested in discovering what had eaten the poor gnome. Gabrielle was abandoned to the very annoyed Fleur, who led Gabrielle from the Burrow by her new, prehensile nose. That, thankfully, wore off when they arrived at Bill and Fleur's new home. It was very clean and bright, with precisely aligned furniture.

It could have been a lot worse, which surprised Gabrielle. Fleur obviously did not want her around, but followed Maman's orders by having Gabrielle dust the dining table before declaring that that was all that was needed for today. Fleur apparated Gabrielle back to the Burrow's boundary, then left her there. It was not even fifteen minutes later! This could, hoped Gabrielle, be the best week ever. She savored the fresh air, and walked back toward the house through the light woods.

There was the loud pop of an apparition behind her, so Gabrielle turned, expecting to find Fleur had changed her mind. Instead, a hideous man with matted gray hair and filthy robes was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the throat. "Hello, my numpty. Who's a tasty snack, eh?" hissed the horror through pointed teeth. He bent her back, and lunged.


	37. Another One

Chapter Thirty-seven - Another One

Gabrielle screamed once at the sudden grab of the horrible man, a choked, second time at the ripping of the jumper and a lancing pain, and a third time as she was dropped to the ground. The third scream was more of a grunt, as the powerful grip of her attacker and the hardness of the ground re-injured her sides, and she had to gasp for breath. Gabrielle lurched to her hands and knees. She was not dead, she was sure of it. Run, screamed her brain stem. Wheeze, replied her lungs. The man scrabbled at his own face with long, dirty yellow fingernails as the pink blob tried to smooth itself over his mouth. He finally tore it away, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe.

"All right then, we'll start at the other end," growled her attacker. Literally growled. Gabrielle launched herself forward, more tumbling than running. It was not enough, and she was wrenched upwards again. Gabrielle imagined she could feel the ribs come loose as she flailed upside-down. She was sure she had managed a kick to the man's head, but to no effect. It should, thought Gabrielle, have been to his ham-and-eggs. Who was this psychopath?

"_Expelliarmus!_" That was Harry's voice, thought Gabrielle, as she was magically torn from the man's grasp. She then, of course, dropped to the ground in an untidy heap. Gabrielle rolled painfully over to try and catch a breath. "_Stupefy!_" shouted Harry as the man turned on him. The thin red jet hit her assailant in the chest. He shrugged it off, and laughed.

"Potter, my boyo, I've been looking for you!" cried the man. "The name's -" he began before turning on the spot. He disapparated, then reappeared on the other side of Harry. Harry spun to face him, and the man disapparated again only to reappear directly in front of Harry, snatching him up in a bear-hug. "- Greyback. You can call me Frenrir though. I think you may know my work?"

Harry had his arms pinned at his chest. Gabrielle began to panic anew. Frenrir was the werewolf that had attacked Bill! She started to shake. I've been bitten by a werewolf, thought Gabrielle. Her hand automatically felt for the knife from Gaston. It wasn't silver, was it? Harry struggled in Frenrir's rangy arms.

"They says I'm not to bite you. Don't see why. What don't kill you makes you stronger - hah!" said Frenrir with a bark-like laugh. "Didn't say not to break bones though." He tightened his arms around Harry's torso like a python.

Gabrielle was panting, coughing hard, and unable to take a breath deep enough for a scream. She had not taken the knife. She always took the knife, and now when she needed it the most it was not here. Not, Gabrielle had to acknowledge, that it would appear to be of much actual help. But it had saved Hermione. Harry's face was turning red as the werewolf tried to squeeze the breath from him.

"No use strugglin' boy. When that air is out it'll be over," hissed Frenrir as Harry writhed. "Ah, was that a rib now?"

"_Waddiwasi!_" burst out Harry with his last breath. There was a sharp report, like a whip cracking. Gabrielle watched as the awful man lost his grip on Harry, and stumbled back a step. Harry scrambled away and back to his feet. Blood poured from a wound in the werewolf's chest in rhythmic surges.

Frenrir grabbed the blade poking out from his chest, and howled in agony before releasing it. He fell to his knees. "It's'ilver?" he slurred.

"_Incarcerous_," was Harry's immediate reply. Frenrir fell over onto his back, making wet, and fading, gurgling noises. "Yeah, it is. Funny that," added Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived swept to Gabrielle's side, "Are you all right?"

"J'ai été mordu! J'ai été mordu!" rasped out Gabrielle desperately. Except that nothing much hurt besides her ribs at the moment. Shock, again, supposed Gabrielle. Harry was not doing much to help. "(Don't just stand there. Get Madame Pomfrey, you idiot! I was bitten!)" wheezed Gabrielle before she was wracked with another cough. Spots were dancing in front of her eyes.

"Er, Madame Pomfrey, right. Er." Harry had gone red again. He gave a quick pull at the front of Gabrielle's jumper.

Gabrielle unclenched an arm from her aching side to feel what Harry had done. She found a large flap through her clothing, just where her right breast would someday be. Ginny will be angry, noted a thought. The bra was ruined. That made Gabrielle think of Poisseux and Pepi-Z. Where were they? Were they okay? She fumbled under the flap until she felt the two of them.

Frenrir's howl had carried further than Gabrielle's scream, and brought more help. The twins came hurrying through the trees, breaking into a run when they saw the carnage. George made a bee-line for Harry and Gabrielle; Fred trained his wand on the fallen Frenrir.

"What's happened Harry? Who is that?" asked George. He peered closely at the hole in Harry's shirt, and the blood on it. "Not feeling badly, are you?"

"I'm fine. That's Frenrir - he attacked Gabrielle!" explained Harry.

"Looks like it - was - Frenrir," said Fred. "Good job and all Harry, but most people stick the pointy end in first."

"(He... bit me! George... You must... get... Madame Pomfrey,)" panted Gabrielle. Eh, suggested a second thought, that might be tried to bite.

"She, er, needs Madame Pomfrey," added Harry.

"Another bloody wunderkind of the foreign tongue," said Fred.

"Where were you bit, luv? There's no blood," soothed George. He moved the hand at her side away, making her wince. "Ah, that I can help with." George started poking Gabrielle's ribs with his wand, which really hurt quite a lot at first.

"(He bit my, eh -)" The deeper breaths she was now afforded helped to calm Gabrielle. "He bit, eh..." started Gabrielle. She gestured to her front.

"Your Pwa-so?" winked George.

"What is this?" asked Harry. He lifted up the pink blob on the end of his wand, the torn edges making it look more like a jellyfish.

"Looks like a Mrs. Udderly's Classic A, Deluxe," said Fred. "Bit chewed. Rather chewed, in fact."

"Come again?"

"Think of pairs, young man, and not bleeding fruit. Oh, come on, what kind of lothario are you? The other one's still attached," added Fred. Gabrielle, who was sitting up now, held her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked unhappy.

"Did you know we carry her novelty items at the shop?" asked George. "Different brand name, of course. Ministry officials are a lot friendlier when they know you know you've sold them a fake todger!"

The humor was lost on Gabrielle, but Harry found it extremely funny. She put that down to nerves. As embarrassing as it was to explain, Gabrielle was rather happy to have only lost one of the goose eggs instead of something a lot more vital. She had not been bitten - it was just the faux breast being ripped off.

"So, Harry," began Fred once Harry had caught his breath. "How is it you had a silver dagger on you?"

v - v - v - v - v

Harry put off explaining about the dagger, and everything else that would bring up, by suggesting that they find Ron and Hermione first, just in case. Ginny had already returned to the kitchen, resigning herself to getting her own breakfast. George and Fred both snorted, and said that they knew exactly where Harry's classmates were, and what they were doing. George turned his back on the others, wrapped his arms around his own shoulders, and made a good impression of two people kissing. Loudly kissing. It was funny, but not as funny as Harry found it. Fred said that he had some dungbombs, so he and Harry went after the other two. Gabrielle hobbled toward the Burrow with George until he finally took the hint, from her wheezing, gasping, and outright whinging, and carried her. It was not, perhaps, her proudest moment, but Gabrielle rationalized that she deserved something for the traumatic events. And leaning her head against his chest did make her feel less unsettled. George did not complain, other than to begin grunting every time he had to step up on or over anything. Gabrielle knew she wasn't heavy; her father always said so.

Returning to the Burrow was not as comforting as Gabrielle had expected. There was more than a little calamity at the news of the attack, and at her condition. Mrs. Weasley, dressed all in black, emerged from her room and went directly from despondent to outraged. It was a frightening thing to see, the more so because while the matron fairly crackled with murderous intent toward those who would invade her family's home, there were no actual enemies evident to vanquish. There was only Gabrielle, propped on the edge of the sofa in the sitting room, and a rapidly retreating George. Gabrielle knew that she would be speaking to him about that!

Mrs. Weasley vented much of her anger at the Floo network, which probably could never ever connect as fast as demanded right then. Madame Pomfrey was summoned. Then Mrs. Weasley poured the rest of her rage onto the old auror Monsieur Moody. He had, in her judgment, not been acting his age, at all. She had expected him to resist better than that, to put his sense of duty first, and to not chase frilly robes. Monsieur Moody replied that they had been, and here his gaze, or gazes in his case, drifted to some place far away, more diaphanous than frilly, and that he had resisted quite valiantly until the Countess began to dance... back at his little flat... which they had retired to because she desired a break from the guitar-with-plug sounds. Mrs. Weasley was not impressed. Gabrielle had started in surprise - a painful thing with her ribs injured again. Her Grandmere had married a Count, her first husband, when she had first become eligible. It was a sad story. The Count's heart had failed within a year; Grandmere, even after remarrying twice, still wore a locket with his image. She also wore a locket with her second husband's image, of course, and now a third with Gabrielle's grandfather's. Could it, cringed Gabrielle, could it be that Grandmere wanted to marry Monsieur Moody? That he would, technically, be her grandfather?

v - v - v - v - v

Moody arrived after a short while. He stepped through the entry hall much more gingerly than his usual stomp. Gabrielle attributed this to a desire for stealth, lest Mrs. Weasley yell at him some more. Or, perhaps, the cause was the strange sling-like contraption that forced him to waddle. He would have been much stealthier if he was not softly groaning with each step. Mr. Weasley met him, and then led the aging auror slowly outside.

With the coast clear, George came back with tea, crackers, and a large hunk of chocolate. Gabrielle noted that there was only one cup of tea on the tray, a mystery that was resolved when George poured some tea into it and took a sip. Gabrielle stared at him incredulously.

"Wot? You don't seem to fancy tea," said George around his cracker. "You need the chocolate for the trauma to your psyche." He lightly tapped the lump of candy with his wand. The chocolate burst into pieces, some scattering across the floor, and some striking Gabrielle. "Uh, sorry. You can never tell with chocolate."

"Do not speak wizz your mouzz full. Eh, please," said Gabrielle in a peeved tone. It was the mildest of the many things running through her head. She took a piece of chocolate from her lap and let it melt in her mouth. It was at least good chocolate.

George swallowed hard. "Easy now, it's got to be quite a shock. Here." He handed Gabrielle the plate.

"I have not, eh, finished ze pieces on ze sofa," noted Gabrielle rudely.

"I can see you're a bit upset, of course. That's -"

"Why did you leave me?" demanded Gabrielle.

"Fred and I came as soon as we heard! I thought Fleur would keep you all -"

"Zat is not what I mean!" interrupted Gabrielle. "Your mozzer, eh, she was angry, very much, and zen you -"

"Mum? Please - you've got nothing to worry about there. Everyone knows you're one of her favorites. The, er, other daughter, as it were. Mum wouldn't be angry at you. Well, not for long at any rate."

"She was, eh, last night," Gabrielle pointed out. But then, almost everyone had been.

There was a distraction in the entry hall. Hermione stormed through, trailing the distinctive aroma of a successful dungbomb attack, and stomped up the stairs. Ron came in next, hurrying after her and reeking just as badly. He started up the stairs, stopping abruptly when the third step exploded. "Hermione! Come on all ready, help me sort Fred out. I'm sure he's sorry and -" Ron dove for cover as a brilliant blue flash lit up the hall. "Right, right. Er, maybe pop 'round after lunch then? Hermione?" Ron sighed, and turned to go. "Bloody terrifying. The gits have no idea..."

"Ah. Looks, ha, smells like the initial field trials of the Mark II dungbomb were positive," grinned George.

"Eh, what?"

"The tried-and-true dungbomb, or Mark I, is getting a little long-in-the-tooth. Rarely has... an impact, as it were, on anyone beyond first-years, really. Fred's been studying muggle munitions - real bastards at work there - for inspiration. It seems the custard, no, clustered version has potential," explained George, though it was not particularly illuminating to Gabrielle. He picked a bit of the chocolate out of her hair and ate it, which reminded her of the coloring.

"I see," lied Gabrielle. "What about my hair?"

"Oh, erm, it's nice. Looks good and doesn't seem like it's fussy," said George after a brief appraisal.

"Eh, zank you, of course," said Gabrielle with a smile. "But I, eh, meant ze color." She pulled at the colored locks.

"I'm a bit biased, but I'll say it's a smashing choice." The tips of his ears colored, which Gabrielle found curious.

"Eh, yes. I, eh, like it also, but when will it, eh, end?"

"Well now, that depends on when you put it in."

Suddenly everything felt right in the world again as Gabrielle relayed the events from Fleur's disastrous color choices. She and George were having a very nice conversation, and even though it was not over an espresso at a street-side table on a pleasant sunny day, it was quite nice. It may have only been the chocolate, of course. Even the news that the hair's reaction was Fred's contribution could not upset the moment.

Madame Pomfrey could upset the moment, though, and did. She bustled in, ordered George out, and conjured some white linen screens. Gabrielle was quickly stripped to the waist and thoroughly poked and prodded, as if Gabrielle was not, herself, able to diagnose - not - being bitten by a werewolf. Poisseux escaped under the sofa with his bobble friend as soon as they, and Gabrielle, were exposed. There were clearly gaps between the screens, something Madame Pomfrey dismissed even though Gabrielle pointed it out twice. It only got worse after Gabrielle was wrapped from collarbone to waist in rigid, white bandages. Madame Pomfrey seemed to like bandages. Gabrielle could easily see the Weasley brothers through the gaps, filing into the kitchen as Madame Pomfrey insisted on checking absolutely everywhere for scratches. Did her patients, wondered Gabrielle in annoyance, normally hide their injuries? Fred was led in by George. Gabrielle couldn't be certain, but it looked like Fred's legs were on backwards! The last to arrive was Bill. He was carrying -

Bill? Oh no, thought Gabrielle. That would mean that Fleur will be here also. And, expected Gabrielle, she was not likely to be happy that her first day as a Mrs. Weasley was ruined. Gabrielle knew she would have to... what? There really was no place to hide at the Burrow, except perhaps in the walls behind the grates, but that had been a total and filthy disaster. No, Gabrielle realized that her only hope was for Madame Pomfrey to confine her to her bed, where she could feign sleep until Fleur got bored and left. The healer was sure to do so. Once Madame Pomfrey finished looking at her wrist, of course. That was another part of her that Gabrielle was quite sure she had not been bitten on. What, wondered Gabrielle, was the medi-witch doing? Gabrielle gave an small tug to see if she could retrieve her hand.

"Just a moment, dear. Your mother passed along some of your healing history. I've heard of the experiments, of course, but I didn't know they could actually do it. And hardly a scar at all!" enthused Madame Pomfrey. Gabrielle suffered in silence, hoping the healer would soon be satisfied with her minute examination. The less said the better; she was not a medical novelty item.

While Madame Pomfrey rummaged in her satchel for more bottles, Gabrielle struggled to put her denims back on in preparation for going to her room. This proved impossible to accomplish, since she could not bend her torso at all. Where was the crocheted throw?

"Leave it for now, and down this," ordered Madame Pomfrey. She handed Gabrielle a small flask, then another. "That's for starters. take the other before bed. You're not to move about now."

"Eh, what is zis?" asked Gabrielle, cautiously sniffing the flask. The acrid smell recalled Skele-Gro, if it was possible to forget that, but there was something else. It was something that brought to Gabrielle's mind the idea of hot sand, in great dunes, carved by the scouring wind, and a shimmering pool near the horizon where an obelisk stood. It was to be hoped it was an obelisk. If it was not, then it was two days too late to -

"It is Skele-Gro cut with a bit of Ephebian Water, with a touch of tincture of aconite," explained the healer using a tone that said that that was going to be sufficient to be obeyed. Gabrielle grimaced as she began to gulp the contents down. Faster was better. "The Water should reduce the bony growths from repeated injury." Gabrielle finished downing the liquid, shuddered, and clamped her tongue to the roof of her mouth so that the concoction stayed put. "I'll stay a bit of a while in case of side-effects." Madame Pomfrey, at Gabrielle's silent, alarmed look added, "They are rare." Gabrielle relaxed. "But potentially fatal."

"Fatal? What eez zis? Zey said zat she was not 'urt badly, and now she may die?" asked an unnoticed Fleur shrilly from the doorway. She flung herself at Gabrielle, covering her sister with her swirling hair before pulling back slightly. "(I am so sorry, Gabrielle. I should have escorted you back to the house,)" said Fleur through tears.

"(Eh, I am , eh, fine, really,)" replied Gabrielle after brushing Fleur's hair from her mouth.

Fleur cupped Gabrielle's face. "(Do not try to be brave. At least your face is still... nice. People will remember you like that.)"

Gabrielle's expression tightened. "(What are you talking about? Have you, eh, lost your senses?)"

"Erm, I did say rare. I'm quite sure I did," noted Madame Pomfrey to the room.

"(I came as soon as I could,)" said Fleur mournfully. Gabrielle found herself wondering about that. Bill had arrived some time ahead of his new wife. Would they not have traveled together? Gabrielle decided the mature thing to do was to set her doubts aside for now. Set them aside, but not forget them.

"(I was not bitten. Anywhere,)" emphasized Gabrielle with a meaningful look at Madame Pomfrey. A look which missed its mark as its intended target was listening in different language.

"(You are not going to die?)" asked Fleur. Gabrielle listened for the disappointment in that, and found none. Second thoughts scolded her; Fleur was still her sister.

"(No, I don't think so. The, eh, potions may make me sick,)" explained Gabrielle. Fleur relaxed, settling back as though she had not been almost hysterical moments before. There was not a trace of self-consciousness about her. Every reaction that Fleur had, she believed was the right one. That was something Gabrielle found annoying as her own reactions were usually deemed pathetic or immature, and she wanted to throw her sister off-balance.

"(Why did you not come with Bill?)" Gabrielle asked with a touch of accusation.

"(You were not badly hurt, and the dishes from breakfast were still on the table.)"

Ha! "(You said you came as soon as you could, but Bill was here first,)" reminded Gabrielle.

Fleur returned a look that suggested Gabrielle was being stupid and silly. "(Do you need me to make a fuss again? Or should I fetch Molly to spoil you?)"

Gabrielle's indignation left her speechless. A treacherous thought suggested that she might have found the winning strategy in that. She took a deep breath to upbraid her smug sister, but before Gabrielle could, George came around the screens. He looked peeved and upset.

"You knew," said George coolly. "About Percy." Fred joined him, all the right way round this time.

Gabrielle's breath burst out, "George! I am not dressed!" She crossed her arms over the rigid wrappings on her chest. On reflection, that did not change circumstances much.

"Go on, we've seen your knickers before," said Fred.

"Why didn't you tell me - us?" asked George.

"Zey have not!" declared Gabrielle looking at Fleur and Madame Pomfrey in a terror. At least, she was fairly sure. After all, when would they... The cabinet, remembered Gabrielle. But the oversized jumper had covered her, had it not?

"White with pink trimmings," said George.

"(I wonder what Papa will say about that?)" mused Fleur with a predatory smile.

Gabrielle gaped at George. She wondered if he really had seen, and remembered, or was he just teasing? Certainly everyone had underwear that was white with pink trim. If George was not teasing, then Gabrielle was quite relieved to have worn her own underwear under the sheer black bodysuit that day.

"Sometimes I wish I was better at memory charms," said Fred looking disconcertedly at his brother. He pulled out his wand and Gabrielle feared for George. Fred had a different target though, and the sofa cushions folded over Gabrielle, covering her. Gripping her, in fact. It was not uncomfortable, but Gabrielle wished she had been able to move her arms away since they were now pinned in place.

Gabrielle focused back on George. She could barely see him over the cushion, but he was still so serious. "Eh, I could not tell, because of ze ozzers." Gabrielle added, "Because, eh, Harry said zat."

"I rather like that, Mister Weasley," announced Madame Pomfrey, indicating the cushions. "You must show that spell to me again."

"Must?" hinted Fred. Three blinking letters appeared on his robes, all W's.

"Ah, erm, Harry... Right, but blimey, you could have told me," complained George.

"I could name the burn ward after you," suggested the healer. "Or, er, your brother," she added uncertainly.

"I am sorry," offered Gabrielle, and she meant it even if it wasn't exactly her fault.

"I just... you know, since..." struggled George before giving up. "Er, I'm sorry too."

"Burn ward? More like burn bed. I've been in loos with more room," teased Fred.

"Officially, a ward is any closed-off area wherein specfic symptoms or conditions are treated exclusively," sniffed Madame Pomfrey. She eyed her bag speculatively. "You're looking a tad peaked this morning..."

"Shagged out, I suspect," winked George. He was, thought Gabrielle, apparently done feeling sorry.

"Oy! Watch it there brother," warned Fred.

"Just another bird, right? A little bit of -"

"No," snapped Fred. "Not just another bird," he admitted, then grinned. "Jealous are we? Just 'cause you'd have to wait, oh, ten years?"

"You left the stopper off the nundu bile again, didn't -"

"It is six years," blurted Gabrielle. She was pinkly defiant, since she couldn't actually escape.

"(Another little gift for Papa. Did you hit your head? Again? I think Maman made a mistake leaving you here,)" declared Fleur.

Another commotion in the entry hall distracted. It was Ginny, doing quite a good, if profane, imitation of her mother. "Go away you bloody idiot, you can see he's hurt!"

"Can't run to the healer for every scratch," growled the auror Moody.

"Is there another werewolf - you - missed then? No? Then Harry's done for now. Go check the wards, or something. No Potter, you're in here!" Ginny dragged Harry into the sitting room, her arm hooked around his back and her every tug making him grimace.

"Gin, that's not helping," groaned Harry.

"And chasing after Mad-Eye is, is it?" demanded Ginny. "He's lucky I didn't give his sling a yank." Fred winced at that.

"Least it didn't hurt," muttered Harry. Ginny whirled on him with a dangerous look. "I said he's made a start, er, you know, on what happened."

"Ooh! Story-time with Harry," clapped Fred. He hoisted himself onto the sofa, on top of the cushions that sandwiched Gabrielle. George climbed up as well. That shook her about, but they were not crushing her. She decided to complain anyway, mostly because Fleur was there and would expect her to.

"Eh, George, please, I -"

"Oh, right luv," said George. He reached down to her and stuck a piece of chocolate into her mouth.

Gabrielle protested around the sweet piece of chocolate, "Zat is - mmph." A larger piece was pushed in.

"Not big enough. Try that one." This, wondered Gabrielle, was George, right?

"I zink I will sit wizz zee adults," announced Fleur looking at the scene.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry was quite a good story-teller, mused Gabrielle. That must be because interesting things happened to him. And, supposed Gabrielle, awful things as well. She knew most of the story already, since she had been nearby for much of it, but it seemed more exciting when he recounted it. No less horrible at times, though. Harry had to repeat parts of the tale as more listeners drifted in. Hermione came in, freshly scrubbed, with Ron. Fred shifted back a little towards the door. She conjured her own chair, pushed Ron into it, and made herself comfortable on its arm and his chest. Charlie came in alone. Bill arrived with the man Tonks was seeing. They seemed a little tipsy to Gabrielle's eye,which did not seem appropriate.

It turned out that the dagger that Harry had carried in a sheath under his shirt was not the one from the box he had received at the quidditch shop. Monsieur Moody had not trusted that dagger, though he could find nothing wrong with it even after melting it completely down so it was not even a dagger any more, and had supplied Harry with another to carry. At all times. This was met with cries of "Constant vigilance!" Hermione explained that one needed quite a bit of skill to get metal to take an enchantment. Gems, crystals, or natural objects were more customary for wizards, while metals were easier for goblins. She smiled demurely in response to Ron remembering that she had spelled some galleons. Harry had not been able to reach the dagger properly, but had gotten his wand on it. He had launched the weapon hilt-first from the sheath, through his shirt, and into the werewolf. It was a claim that was met with some amount of dubiousness, tempered, of course, with the fact that it had actually happened. The man Tonks was seeing, and who seemingly answered to Moony of all things, found that decidedly amusing.

The mood turned grimmer when Harry explained Mad-Eye's theory. Gabrielle felt a little disrespectful thinking of him like that, even if it did sort of make sense. She hoped that Grandmere would not marry him. The auror suspected that the Weasleys' neighbor Tiltonson had been forced into carrying a sleeping or unconscious Frenrir through the wards. Hermione and Bill then discussed wards, and whether unconscious intent even existed, for far too long. Moony was interested in a story from Bill about a wizard who had fallen, dead-drunk, down a shaft in a pyramid and past nearly impenetrable magic, only to wake up to the shouts of the concerned, realize where he was, and be incinerated by a burst of green flame. Gabrielle mostly focused on the fact that an actual werewolf had been on the property for the whole of the wedding. And worse, Frenrir, like Yvette, though also very much the opposite of the witch, had been at the Burrow when the Fidelius was raised. He could have come and gone as he pleased, possibly bringing more of You-Know-Who's Death-Eaters with him. Harry, voiced Ginny, had saved all the Weasleys this time. Fred agreed, but opined that, be that as it may, it did not mean that they could go back to shagging.

Ginny was pretty fast with her wand, but George and Fred worked as a team. Mrs. Weasley, the real Mrs. Weasley thought Gabrielle, cleared the room after the short, colorful, and relatively harmless spell exchange. There were suddenly many tasks to be done, and these were assigned very definitely. Unless one was needed somewhere else, like George and Fred. Or were being treated by Madame Pomfrey, like Harry. Or were too stubborn and rebellious, like Ginny. Gabrielle wondered if Mrs. Weasley had heard the shagging comment. At least Ginny fetched her housecoat after the sofa was returned to normal, although Harry was now another boy that had seen her 'knickers' as Mrs. Weasley had not known. Gabrielle doubted Harry would tell Fleur, since he was as embarrassed by it as she was. Gabrielle wished that she had not accidentally called him an idiot before.

Madame Pomfrey finished up her ministrations by sticking the pointy end of a wide brass trumpet into Gabrielle's ear. The healer then quickly and unexpectedly whacked Gabrielle in the head with a polished wooden mallet. This was new, alarming, and painful. Madame Pomfrey swung at Gabrielle's head a second time after warning her not to shout out again, then a third time after she had to admonish Harry to stop laughing. Gabrielle considered that perhaps he was a bit of an idiot. She also understood why patients might hide their injuries. Madame Pomfrey then pronounced, after checking the other ear as well - another mallet blow - that Gabrielle's brain had not been liquefied by the Ephebian Water. Gabrielle, now slightly dazed, was led away to her bed. She was able to remember to demand new sheets.

v - v - v - v - v

Mrs. Weasley arrived with a tray for lunch. Gabrielle supposed it was lunch, she didn't remember eating lunch earlier and it was very light outside. So it was probably lunch. Things had gotten a little fuzzy since her treatment. She would not complain about the healers in France ever again.

Mrs. Weasley also brought news that she had spoken to Gabrielle's parents. The chocolate and selection of sandwiches, cut into triangles with the crusts off, suddenly did not look as appetizing. Gabrielle could not see how, but felt sure that her Maman would somehow find this to be her fault. Gabrielle tried to gather her thoughts to prepare a protest.

"Your mother nearly fainted when she heard what happened. Didn't seem at all surprised by the call though, I thought. She was very impressed with Harry's help; wanted to know if you were spending time with him." Mrs. Weasley scrutinized Gabrielle for a few suspicious moments before shrugging. "Your father was so upset, dear, he tried to come through the Floo. Can you imagine? On an international fire-call," said Mrs. Weasley shaking her head. Gabrielle could imagine it and almost giggled; Papa could be so silly at times. "Your mother had her hands full there. It can take days just to get back out of an exchange, you know."

Mrs. Weasley sat down on the bed. This, knew Gabrielle, was not a good sign. Healers at the hospital would do that right before describing what the patient would never, ever, ever be able to do again. Gabrielle was able to hear because she was pretty good at feigning sleep. "We've, er, arranged a port-key for you, for tomorrow," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Eh - oh. Zat is, eh..." Gabrielle had been bracing for worse. Not that there was a reason to expect a punishment, judged Gabrielle. She had, after all, only been doing as she had been told to do. There should not be anything at all! And, supposed Gabrielle, this was not really a punishment. Of course Maman and Papa would send for her. Except... Gabrielle had not yet visited the twins' shop, and if she went back to France now there was no telling when she would see it. It was not fair. "I am feeling, eh, better," started Gabrielle, although the Skele-Gro was definitely kicking in. Just an extra day was all she needed. That, and someone to take her to Diagon Alley.

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey is a wonder. Ephebian Water - that's a new one to me," praised Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle intended to reserve judgment on that Water business. It did seem to make the bone-mending less painful, but that was definitely offset by the mallet.

"I can, perhaps, stay, eh, one more day zen?" Gabrielle smiled the smile she would use on Papa.

"I'm not sure you father could survive that," said Mrs. Weasley half to herself. "You've already gotten an extra day, and look what's happened! No, I think it's for the best."

Gabrielle, aware of the concluding tone in Mrs. Weasley's voice, rushed out, "But I have not visited George's shop. Eh, also Fred's." And instantly she knew that that was a tactical mistake. This was because Mrs. Weasley looked at her like she had said something completely stupid.

"Don't be a silly girl," scolded Mrs. Weasley. "We have the devil's time keeping you safe as it is without such frivolity. The port-key was hard enough to arrange - thank Merlin your father works for the Ministry there. We wouldn't have time for such nonsense in any case, what with, with the... memorial."

v - v - v - v - v

The chocolate wore off hours before dinner. Gabrielle was beginning to feel cold, isolated, and a little fearful. No one had visited her in some time, and she had only her little tape toad and zombie puffskein to keep her company for the longest while. She even let Pepi-Z wedge himself into her ear canal, just so he would be sure to stay. Slipping out of the housecoat and into George's old quidditch jersey had not helped for long. The sudden appearance of Crookshanks was as welcome as it was mysterious, since the door was still closed. The rigid bandages wrapping her took the cat's weight, and he kept his claws retracted when he stretched out to her neck.

It was not much later that there came the sounds of an argument in the hallway. It was a little indistinct since there was a puffskein in her ear, but there was no missing the sharp voice Hermione used.

"Honestly, Ron. Do you really think she'll want that putrid thing shoved in her face after what she went through this morning? At least try to clean it up some." There were other voices then, possibly Harry's and definitely Ron's. Gabrielle couldn't make out what they were saying. "Of course I know that's the point! But shake the dust off it, at least. What are those green specks? I wouldn't go near it if I were her."

"(I am sorry, Pepi-Z,)" apologized Gabrielle as she tugged the bobble free in time to hear Ginny.

"- say it's from the twins and I'll give galleons for sickles that'd she lick the thing. Anyway, she owes Harry for saving her."

"No, Ginny, she doesn't. Frenrir was only here because of me," declared Harry. "Everyone is -"

"Right, yeah, you're very special," interrupted Ron. Were they, wondered Gabrielle, just going to stand right outside her door and argue? Why did they not ask? "Look, you said she's a seer. Those types love to flounce about and show-off, right? Tell her we'll get her a load of incense, extra, you know, incense-y."

"Not Seeing. It was scrying, we don't know if she can do it, and I think she would prefer to rest quietly," asserted Hermione. She is wrong, thought Gabrielle. Even if it was only Ron, she would want him to come in.

It was suddenly obvious what to do. "You can come in," called Gabrielle loudly, earning a swat with a paw full of claws from Crookshanks. There was no immediate response from the far side of the door, just hushed accusations and apologies. Finally the door opened, Harry and Ron leading the way.

"Uh, hello, Gabrielle. We were, erm, just coming to see you," said Harry. Gabrielle tried not to laugh at the boys' lame subterfuge.

Ginny was not as patient and pushed past Harry. "Come on Effy, do us a favor?"


	38. Watching

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Watching

Gabrielle stared down into the black circle of ink, the smell of the rancid, threadbare pillow below her chin nearly making her gag. Why would anyone keep such a thing? She was propped on her stomach on several pillows, clean pillows, her face sticking out over the saucer with the ink. If it wasn't for her belief that the teens would quickly leave if she didn't at least try, Gabrielle would have done as Hermione expected and refused to go near the stained, reddish cushion. If there had been any green specks, they seemed to be gone now. There was no question that she could see nothing in the dark puddle, but if she stared long enough the ink would appear to either lighten, or deepen. Once, Gabrielle would swear the ink flickered, like a light was passing a dark room. That was enough to impress Hermione, who praised her efforts. Ron was less sanguine, but a glare from his girlfriend changed his approach.

"Maybe, maybe it's dark already where the wanker is," suggested Ron. "Let's go down to the kitchen to get something to eat. She can try later when the rat gets someplace lit up, right?" He stood up from where he sat on the floor, his cheerful grin fading under Hermione's peeved glare.

"Is that the answer then, Hermione? Did Ron do it again?" teased Ginny. "Only thinking of his stomach! How path- What are you doing Harry?" Harry had gotten up as well.

"I was, I was, erm... I was going to do us some tea?" offered Harry sheepishly. Ginny put her hands on her hips and a look of exasperation on her face. Then Hermione burst out laughing, derailing Ginny's snit. The two boys quickly fled when Ginny turned on Hermione. The red-haired witch deflated.

"Those idiots," sighed Ginny. She helped Gabrielle slide back from overhanging the ink. Gabrielle hoped that the stupid bandages would come off before her port-key left.

"How's the courtship coming along?" asked Hermione. For a moment, Gabrielle was going to answer, but then realized the question had been directed at Ginny.

"Is that what you call it when Mum is poking her head around a corner every few minutes? There was more privacy at Hogwarts," complained Ginny. "She has that bloody house-elf popping in too, wagging its bleeding finger at us."

"Ginny, language, please," said Hermione primly. "It's you own fault, you know."

"Never thought to try the old tree-house. Probably take a week to air out now, though," returned Ginny. "Don't tell me Ron's skipping revising?"

"Hmph. Your Mum won't let us alone either, and we're at least of age," griped Hermione. She looked speculatively at Ginny. "I know you're still sneaking around to see Harry. How are you doing that?"

"I don't know what you're on about," replied Ginny a little too quickly. She didn't look at the older girl. "Let's have a go at the ink again."

"I can try ze crystal ball, eh, zis time?" asked Gabrielle. She didn't see how the ink could work. It was dark, and so, well, inky.

"I don't think we've got one. I know I don't, and I've never seen Mum or Dad use one," shrugged Ginny. "What about you, Hermione?"

"You know what happened with Trelawney," said Hermione reproachfully. "And I've seen you slip into a room then not be there a moment later. Just how are you doing that? You can't apparate; even if you could there are wards and all."

"I don't believe this. You're following me too? It's no wonder Frenrir was able to get in undetected - everyone's too busy nosing into my business!"

"I'm neither following you nor nosy, Ginny. I am observant, though, and you're not careful," replied Hermione. Gabrielle suspected that she knew what Ginny was doing. Why did Ginny not want to share her secret, after sharing everything else?

"Eh, Crookshanks knows, I zink," suggested Gabrielle helpfully. "You can ask him, yes?" The cat, once more atop the wardrobe, lifted its head to glare at her.

A pink-faced Hermione admitted, "Crooksies has been no help at all when it comes to Ron. I rather think he's helping Ginny's Mum." Could a cat smile, wondered Gabrielle? Crookshanks seemed to at that. Hermione continued, "If you think Crookshanks knows, then you must know too."

"Eh..." began Gabrielle, trying to work out what was going on between the two witches, and what might happen if she guessed wrong. "Zat is, eh, possible."

"Why won't any of you tell me?" whined the bushy-haired witch, taking in turns Ginny, Gabrielle, and the cat.

Crookshanks appeared to answer with a rambling series of meows, none of which made his owner happy. Halfway through the feline soliloquy, Hermione drew her wand, but then looked embarrassed by the act.

Gabrielle felt she was definitely missing something. "What did he, eh, say?" There was no answer from Hermione, who looked both hurt and angered by Crookshanks... words.

"He might be telling her that falling for that oaf of a brother of mine is all sweet and such, but unleashing years of pent-up hormones with him might not be so, er, healthy," said Ginny. Hermione fairly crackled as she turned to Ginny. "That's, er, my guess, at least. I, erm, don't speak much cat."

"Remarkably prescient, then," said Hermione acidly. "And just how is it different than what you and Harry get up to?"

"The ropes, mostly. That, and you've worked your way through the whole of the middle section," replied Ginny, standing her ground. Gabrielle knew Ginny was talking about the book from Grandmere, and gaped. All of the center section? All of the devotions? Even the fourth?

"I will kill him!" hissed Hermione. Sparks poured from her wand like a firework, until she noticed it and stopped the flow with a good shake.

"It wasn't Ron! I swear," said Ginny quickly. Gabrielle wondered if Ginny would regret that admission. Certainly Gabrielle's own second thoughts were encouraging flight. She could use some help getting up, but after that she was sure she could run. In the meantime, she tried to be invisible, to fade into the background. "It was me, only me."

"But... why?" demanded Hermione plaintively.

"I... just wanted to, er, make sure he wasn't being the arse he usually is."

v - v - v - v - v

Black robes billowed as their wearer stalked behind the slumped figure in the hard chair, the intended menace obvious. "It does no good to pretend, Yardley. I can see your thoughts as easily as our lord can," sneered Severus Snape, stopping behind the once-comatose wizard. Although, knew Snape, the Dark Lord would have little interest in the man beyond punishing the failure. And such a failure. The images torn from the ne'er-do-well sluggard's weak mind showed an almost child-like naivetė. The house-elf had appeared before them and claimed to have been freed, though it appeared in Yardley's mind to wear nothing but its old rags. A discrepancy that went unremarked by any witness. Or was that witless? The elf set about cleaning and was gladly accepted, and, of course, forgotten. Later the Black family's former elf brought tea, and, Merlin help us, thought Snape, it was the one that suggested that they toast the Dark Lord. Yardley was thicker than the others, in body and mind, so lost total consciousness last. The very last of his latent memories puzzled. Through the fog of the potion and dimming eyes, Yardley saw Draco, already in a death-like state, lovingly stuffed into a small gift box by the overjoyed house-elf. The house-elf and the box then disappeared, both because the elf disapparated and because Yardley ceased to sense his surroundings.

Snape considered this. It seemed to be a clever variation on the trick Draco himself had managed, the one that had breached Hogwarts. Granger's work, surely. A transfigured vanishing cabinet, not the same one obviously, carried in by a foolishly trusted house-elf - right past the wards and barriers. There was a good chance, since Kreacher knew of the Malfoy Manor, that his elaborate precautions in travelling had inadvertently led that house-elf to its quarry. Another set of paired cabinets, mused Snape, must have taken quite a lot of effort to find, and technique had been wasted on an opportunity for personal vengeance.

The particulars of the abduction were not an immediate safety concern, given the Dark Lord's recent fascination with the gory innards of house-elves. It was odd though, considered Snape. The potion used took a good deal of tending to brew; why use it when a sleeping draught would have sufficed? The answer was, of course, obvious to those of a certain bent. The Malfoy heir would be insensible for years without the antidote, needing very little care at all to keep alive. The modus implied long-term imprisonment, probably in a place that was either very remote or magically concealed.

Snape remembered the wretched wizard in the chair before him. Yardley had feigned unconsciousness, but the added tension was too much and now caused him to twitch. The potions master dismissed the man before he further embarrassed himself. The Dark Lord, realized Snape, was indeed correct in surmising that depending on these louts would lead no where. That meant that his Death Eaters were expendable, a liability. It was not a pleasant thought. As Yardley scurried from the room, Snape headed for the Malfoy library to mull things over.

The walk through the halls, lined with once-more gleaming antiques and artwork, was enough. Snape decided that the situation actually held quite some promise. He did not know if the Gryffindors had found out about the Vow, but he was very sure that Draco's fate was a desire on their part for leverage. Long-term imprisonment, then, implied long-term leverage. Potter was emotionally unbalanced, but, thought Snape, was unlikely to be able to just murder the unconscious Draco. A lip curled with some satisfaction. This was very nearly an ideal situation. The young Malfoy was hidden in such a way that there was no simple way to locate him. However, he was also safe; safe from the Ministry, safe from the Dark Lord, and safe from other Death Eaters. The Vow, knew Snape, would be killing him by inches if it were not so. Severus also knew that he would be obliged to Potter's gang in order to keep his erstwhile ward unharmed. That would mean some contact with Potter, and passing information to or otherwise helping him. The Dark Lord would know, of course, because Snape would tell him. This was nothing more than the same game he had played before, a difficult game that he was good at. Just as Malfoy manor was past its dingiest period, so had Snape's prospects past their dimmest. Aid to Potter would have to be acknowledged by the Ministry should the Dark Lord actually fall. Any connection to Potter, no matter how tenuous and intermittent, would be considered invaluable to the Dark Lord. The future was likely to be bleak, especially without Dumbledore's guidance, but not as personally bleak as it had been as little as a week ago. Except for having to inform Narcissa...

v - v - v - v - v

An awkward moment ended when Harry and Ron returned. Actually, a series of awkward moments, the last caused by Gabrielle. She had questions about the mechanics of several of the implied acts. Some still seemed very unlikely. It was like they were all a coven again, albeit one where no one would look each other directly in the eye for long.

The boys were not alone, and Ron gallantly held the door open for Fleur. She entered the room regally, bearing a large tray. "'Allo Ginny, 'Ermione. I 'ave brought zee prop-air tea," said Fleur as a greeting. "Ze boys, zey are 'opeless." Gabrielle never had trouble fading into the background when Fleur was in the room. "(How are you now, Gabrielle?)"

"(Eh, I am fine,)" replied Gabrielle. It was mostly true.

"Hopeless?" asked Hermione with a frown for Ron.

"Ze cups, zey did not match, of course," explained Fleur. She pushed the tray into Hermione's arms and began distributing the matching cups. The nearly matching cups, noticed Gabrielle. One was smaller and quite a different color of white. Fleur held it out for her. "Zis eez from William. 'E says eet eez Ethiopian. I am becoming quite used to ze smell."

"I'b dot," complained Ginny holding her nose.

Gabrielle looked into the cup, with its rich brown liquid topped with a trace of creamy froth clinging along the sides. It was beautiful, and the aroma was wonderful. Not as complex an aroma as the coffee from Gaston, but perhaps deeper. A sip made her think of cool moutainsides over looking baking valleys, a place where the high forests sheltered hidden treasures. She pictured exotic-looking people in a kind of colorful wrap, tending goats. Gabrielle blinked away the images, and forced herself to put down the savory drink. Fleur was sure to mention it if she slurped.

Gabrielle tried to pick up the thread of the conversation again. Bill was naturally pleased about Frenrir's fate, and was celebrating with the man they called Moony, who was also quite happy with the outcome. The discussion of whether this Moony would be able to convince "the other werewolves" now that Frenrir was no more was puzzling. It was, guessed Gabrielle, probably related to the Or-friends. That such an unhealthy-looking man would be sent to face werewolves was amazing. There was no point in asking what it meant. Gabrielle took another sip of the strong coffee; she liked goats. Goats came in quite reasonable sizes, unlike, say, horses. Or hippogriffs, which came to mind as Harry was recounting another werewolf encounter in which one had saved him. Gabrielle decided that after she and George were married they would live in France, where it seemed much less hazardous. Or perhaps it was Harry and Ginny who should move to France.

A thought from the back of Gabrielle's mind pulled her back to the present, and reminded her to get the others off the subject of hippogriffs. Especially with Fleur present. Her sister found the whole 'Hatching' to be quite amusing; it was another item on the List. Fleur's friends were the ones Gabrielle was normally embarrassed in front of. But these, thought Gabrielle, were her friends. Well, she considered them her friends. They were at least like friends. Ginny and Hermione were part of the coven. That had to count for something. Harry had attacked a werewolf to save her. Not a full-fledged werewolf, admittedly, but it was probably not a thing one did for a mere acquaintance. Ron had been very happy about breakfast; Gabrielle suspected that was all it would take to be in his good graces. She had learned what Phlegm meant too, and that was definitely not a friendly nickname. Gabrielle didn't think she would use it in front of Fleur either. She also had to wonder if the teens had nicknames, that is, other nicknames, for her when she was not present.

And now it was too late. Fleur had launched into the incident with the hippogriff. Which was, Gabrielle thought reflexively, in no way her fault. The Auld Wizard's Zoo of Paris was a beloved icon in the French magical community. Beloved, but not very well patronized. The zoo depended on the Ministry to make good on the revenue shortfalls, and that, in turn, depended on maintaining goodwill inside the Ministry. To that end, the zoo held special programs and conscientiously invited the families of those in the Ministry. These were educational programs intended to show the magnificence of the beasts, their role in a healthy magicosm, and the utmost importance of having zoos to put them in.

The events were a highlight of many a summer week for Gabrielle. She recalled that she had been completely thrilled to be standing only about six meters from a real hippogriff, because she had just turned six in the days prior and the toy hippogriff she had gotten could still flutter around the room. Even better, the living hippogriff before her looked a lot like the minature, except for being a lot sharper in many places. It was not a frightening thing. The hippogriff, an old mare named Marseille, was tethered, and two keepers kept close watch. The creature seemed content to bob languidly at nervous, bowing wizards, who would then approach to nearly arm's length. Gabrielle would not take a turn because she was just a child at the time, but Papa would. They shuffled to the head of the queue. Gabrielle remembered being so excited that she had been jumping up and down in place.

A moment later and it had still been very exciting, but in a completely different way. Marseille, in an explosion of mottled brown feathers, snapped her tethers, flung the keepers aside with powerful wings, and lunged forward. Papa was bowled over, and the hippogriff's beak closed on Gabrielle. Just as suddenly, the beast's lunge reversed itself, and it settled back in its place, sitting calmly and haughtily, with Gabrielle as its prize tucked under its wings.

Gabrielle had not been hurt by the hippogriff, even though she had fit quite conveniently into its beak. In fact, Marseille's attempts at preening had hurt more, with clumps of her hair being pulled out. Gabrielle had always wondered if the keepers had known that, since one keeper cleared the enclosure while the other calmed Papa. Clearing the enclosure was simply a matter of enlarging the door, so the panicked flight of the crowd could sort itself out. Calming Papa had required a lot more spellwork.

Fleur had reached her favorite part of the story, when the initial danger gave way to farce. The mothering hippogriff had given up trying to arrange Gabrielle's feathers by way of pulling out her hair, and had decided that Gabrielle's plaintive cries for Papa were really cries of hunger. Marseille attempted to feed Gabrielle, in the hippogriff way, by regurgitating her lunch onto Gabrielle's upturned, then quickly down-turned, face. It had worked in a way. Gabrielle had not dared to make a sound after that, and had barely breathed, although that was because of the smell. It had been a hideously disgusting turn of events, and it never failed to garner a laugh.

It did so now. Ron was making enough noise for two, and Harry was nearly breathless. Ginny was laughing too; even Hermione was tittering instead of being indignant at the treatment of a coven sister. These were supposed to be friends, frowned Gabrielle. Her face was aflame. She thought of trying to cover her head with the pillow, or perhaps of just rolling off the bed and then under it. But Gabrielle remembered what Ginny had said about not hiding, and was willing to try it again only because she couldn't escape. She attempted a smile, rather forced. There was no way that she could join in the laughter; it had been entrails for lunch that day.

Hermione recovered first and noticed Gabrielle. "So Beebee, how did they ever get you away? I can't imagine the hippogriff went quietly."

"Eh, Fleur, she... saved me. She did ze dance, ze spanje-ples, and Marseille went to sleep," replied Gabrielle. And, remembered Gabrielle to herself, she had followed Fleur around for days begging to be taught that. It was the time in her life that she had tried to copy Fleur in everything. It had been so pathetic that even Fleur had had enough after a week.

"Cor, I'd liked to have seen that," said Ron reverentially before Hermione jabbed him.

"Like the dragon," blurted Harry. "You know, for the first task."

"Oui, zey are simil-air," beamed Fleur. Gabrielle would have made a face, just because, but realized that perhaps Ginny had been right after all. The attention was back on Fleur already.

"What happened to Mar-say?" asked Ginny anxiously.

"Nozzing, once eet was explained about Gabrielle," shrugged Fleur. "Zey gave us zee, 'ow you say... passes permanent, zough."

"What do you mean, explained about Gabrielle?" asked Harry. "I always thought hippogriffs were excellent judges of character."

"Well, you will see, once zere was..." began Fleur. Smile, thought Gabrielle. Just keep smiling.

Eventually Ginny and Hermione had had their fill of Fleur. For Hermione it was the unsolicited hair-care tips; for Ginny it was advice on how to be more organized. Which, Gabrielle had to admit looking about the room, was a reasonable thing to offer. Harry and Ron followed, taking a hint from the throat-clearing and arm-waving. Which left Gabrielle alone with Fleur. She braced herself for her share of helpful advice, but Fleur, after much fussing and and cleaning with her wand, sat back on Ginny's bed and pulled a very large book from a very small pocket. Gabrielle wondered at Fleur's unusual actions, but decided not to question them. It was better than being alone.

It was better then being alone, but not really that unlike actually being alone. Gabrielle passed a quiet couple of hours, which, supposed Gabrielle, was the point since she was intended to be resting. Just to break the silence, Gabrielle had asked after Gisselle; she couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the bridesmaid and Yvette had managed to switch dates. Fleur was more annoyed at the usurping Yvette than the wayward Gisselle. Charlie was excused, since he was 'an idiot.' It was a topic, because of Gabrielle's part in it, best left alone. Crookshanks dropped down from the top of the wardrobe to settle atop the rigid bandages over Gabrielle's chest. A warning hiss let her know that he was not interested in any petting. Fleur tsked her disapproval. A glum Mrs. Weasley arrived with a tray with Gabrielle's dinner, and more chocolate. Fleur gave her a brief, and unexpected, embrace before departing. It brought a short-lived smile to the matron's face.

v - v - v - v - v

The chocolate, reasoned Gabrielle, must have worn off. That was why she had woken, again, from a nightmare where floating dirty fingernails and disembodied yellow teeth lunged at her, all while she wore only her white, with pink trim, underwear. Crookshanks, who was, with apologies to Pepi-Z and Poisseux, warm and fuzzy, would have been a great help right now. The cat was no longer on Gabrielle, nor on the bed. Gabrielle wondered if perhaps he was under the bed, or was off trying to foil Hermione's plans with Pickle. Part of her hoped that he was. The fourth - ugh. That part was not the one that woke up in a fright though.

Gabrielle rolled to the edge of the bed, then tilted until her feet touched the floor. Pushing herself upright only knocked a dozen or so things from the table next to the bed. Gabrielle knew where a person's ribs stopped; the healer she saw all too often in France had a skeleton in his office. It was named de Gaulle, and would clumsily hand out hard candies at the end of an appointment. It seemed sad to Gabrielle, but the healer always claimed it was smiling. But, honestly, how would one tell? Gabrielle could not see why Madame Pomfrey had wrapped her so.

"Eh, Ginny?"

"Mmmfou?"

"I can, eh, sleep wizz you?" whispered Gabrielle.

"Mmmfou?" Well, thought Gabrielle, that was not the very definitive no she had gotten last night.

Getting into the bed without assistance was not very graceful. Gabrielle more or less toppled onto the edge of the bed, and rolled to stay on. That did mean rolling over on top of Ginny, but Gabrielle tried to do it quickly.

"Mmm-wha? Geroff Crknk..."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle woke in the morning to a rapid knocking on the door. The room was quite bright already. It had not been a restful night. Ginny was a very restless sleeper, and the bed was not really made for two. Also, while the closeness of her coven sister had helped with Gabrielle's bad dreams, the reverse was not true. Several times Ginny had quietly moaned, "Not Harry, not Harry," and tossed fitfully, waking Gabrielle. At the moment, Ginny's head was squashing Gabrielle's arm, numbing it.

"Gabrielle, dear, are you awake?" came Mrs. Weasley's voice before the door opened and her head peered in. "You'll need to be getting, er..."

"I am here," called Gabrielle. Ginny rolled over and covered her head with the pillow. Gabrielle tried to rise using her clumsy arm, and failed.

"Oh. Er. All right. Madame Pomfrey is here; come down straight away," ordered Mrs. Weasley. "It's already getting on, and the port-key is an early one." She pulled back and closed the door before Gabrielle could ask for help, or ask why Madame Pomfrey could not come upstairs to the bedroom where there was privacy.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle did not understand why Ginny was so grumpy in the morning. It was hardly morning to begin with, at least not early morning. And how could it have been a surprise that she was there, wondered Gabrielle, since Ginny had been draped over her for nearly half the night? It was not, really not, her fault that she was over-wrapped in a protective bandage shell. Getting back over the unhelpful Ginny had been difficult, and the comment about bony elbows mean. Gabrielle returned that she would be taking her Grandmere's book with her.

Madame Pomfrey was waiting in the kitchen, being attended to by Geff. That had to be because there was no one of school age available to order around, sniffed Gabrielle. The healer led Gabrielle to the sitting room again. Gabrielle very pointedly closed the door; if she had her wand with her and knew how to cast a, yes, ward she would have done so. Gabrielle did know a trick from Philippe to wedge a door shut, but she did not have any knuts either. Madame Pomfrey did not see fit to conjure even one screen this time, so Gabrielle made her wait while she put her housecoat back on after the wrappings had been sliced off. No one would be seeing her 'knickers' this morning. The medi-witch was delighted with Gabrielle's recovery, and with the efficacy of the Ephebian Water. Gabrielle could tell where this was headed, and quickly explained that she had packing to do and needed to see to it. She needed to leave before Madame Pomfrey pulled out her mallet.

Packing to leave was both easier and more difficult than packing to arrive had been. Gabrielle did not have to be as neat, for instance, since Maman was not periodically inspecting her progress. Deciding what not to take had been hard before; it was much easier now. Anything Fleur had packed was going to be left behind, both because Gabrielle hated the dresses and because she was supposed to have outgrown them. Explaining why the clothes suddenly fit again would be awkward at best. Gabrielle shoved the hideous frocks under Ginny's bed, where she thought she might have found Yvette's lost underwear. Gabrielle wasn't sure, and she wasn't going to touch them to check either.

When Gabrielle packed her trunk at home, it had been easy to know what to put in. She had planned it for weeks - all for naught, of course, thanks to Fleur. It was proving more difficult for the return trip. Mrs. Weasley had brought down many things from the attic with the ghoul, things that no longer fit Ginny. But did that mean Gabrielle was free to take them now? And what to take? The denims were an easy choice; Maman did not much approve of them so Gabrielle had to buy them herself when she had the opportunity, and she didn't always judge the sizes correctly. George's old quidditch jersey would go into the once-secret compartment, just in case, but what about the blouses that nearly fit her? Breakfast, thought Gabrielle, and some coffee would make it easier to decide. She turned to go, then came back into the room.

"Yeah?" asked Ginny, with a yawn.

"Eh, I need to, eh, dress, for ze breakfast," explained Gabrielle. She did need to dress. George was likely to be there to see her off, and she did not want to be in her ratty old housecoat. A second thought knew that was uncalled for, and mentally apologized to the housecoat. It was old, but soft and comfortable, and not ratty at all except, perhaps, a little at the back. A third thought wondered if a little more focus was not in order. Maman, and Papa even, would likely meet her when she arrived in France. Gabrielle knew that her mother frowned at girls wearing trousers, and anything she frowned at long enough tended to disappear. No matter how many of Gabrielle's francs it had cost! Gabrielle had brought some of the least offensive dresses she had with her; good for placating Maman, but they would make her look like a silly nine year-old and that was not what she wanted George to see. No, what she wanted was -

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle after realizing Ginny had called her.

"I asked if you're all right. Have you been sniffing hot chocolate again?" asked Ginny.

Gabrielle stared at Ginny. What in Merlin's realm was she talking about? "I, eh, was zinking," explained Gabrielle.

"Thought you might have gotten something from that pillow after all," said a stretching Ginny. Gabrielle only half listened. She had remembered the school uniform's skirt. That would meet Maman's standards, and it was more appropriate for a girl, young woman her age. Gabrielle imagined the skirt swishing and swirling, though on a person much taller than herself. There was the possibility that George might be overcome again, worried Gabrielle, but he would just have to stiffen his resolve. Stiffen, smirked a second thought. Ha!

"Hell-oo? What in Merlin's name is wrong with you this morning?" asked Ginny. When had she gotten out of bed?

"Nozzing," snapped Gabrielle. "I am fine. What is it zat you want?" Gabrielle picked through the clothes piled onto the table, and cringed. It was a good thing that Maman had not seen this; at least most of it was Ginny's. Gabrielle found the skirt.

"Are you going to give it another go? I thought maybe if you used my wand..."

"Eh... what are you talking about?" Gabrielle decided to wear one of the embroidered blouses. It was a little big and would need to be cuffed, but it would help disguise the current lack of pink goose eggs.

"The scrying. You know, Wormtail?" said Ginny, offering her wand.

Gabrielle turned to face Ginny again. Why, wondered Gabrielle, was she bringing this up now? "Your wand is not, eh, good." Ginny's face tightened, so Gabrielle quickly added, "For me, eh, zat is. I have my own, of -"

"You have Fred's wand, that's right," inserted Ginny.

"No. It is mine," said Gabrielle firmly, suddenly glad she normally rose before the redhead.

"Go on, you can't use it. Probably a trick one anyway."

"I can. I can do spells!"

"Hmmph. Show me. Get some ink," challenged Ginny, wiping out a stray saucer picked from the messy table.

"I am packing now, and zen I will have ze breakfast," said Gabrielle. At least she could act mature. Except now Ginny wore a knowing smile, like she had expected Gabrielle to shirk all along. I am a proper witch, thought Gabrielle; I know it. Why not, suggested a part of her, prove it? Prove it, and show them why Harry Potter had pulled her from the lake. She is provoking you, eh, us... me, warned a confused thought.

A movement caught Gabrielle's eye. Poisseux was pulling a napkin-wrapped item past the clutter on the bedside table, his tiny spellotape nails making scritching sounds as traction eluded him. Pepi-Z rocked excitedly from where he was perched on top of the thing. Gabrielle did not recognize what the little zombie toad tugged. The napkin was clearly too clean to have been brought in by the garden gnomes.

Ginny began laughing, and plucked the mystery load from Gabrielle's pets. "Look," said Ginny triumphantly. "They want to see you do it too!" Unwrapping the item revealed the silver inkpot from Fred. "Verity dropped it off after the wedding. Er, probably just as well you weren't here at the time. She was, erm... not chuffed about what you tried to do."

Gabrielle looked over to the zombie puffskein and toad. Pepi-Z had no real face at all, and Poisseux's was just layered tape. Yet they both managed to look eagerly expectant. She couldn't just refuse, they would be so disappointed. " Oui, d'accord. I will get my wand."


	39. All Good Things

Chapter Thirty-nine - All Good Things

It was getting a little embarrassing, bending over a pool of resolutely black ink while the stench of the little pillow made her nose itch. Gabrielle thought waving her little wand while incanting "_revealo, revealo" _might help, until Ginny burst out laughing. The little wand itself was a distraction. Gabrielle had the impression that training it on Ginny would make the blond stick happy. That would be a humiliating contest, thought Gabrielle. She gave the wand a shake so she could concentrate, and try to decide how much more time she would have to waste on this pointless attempt.

The surface of the ink rippled suddenly, as if something had shaken the saucer. Gabrielle leaned forward - this was new. The dark puddle lightened, almost like it was reflecting light. Like it was reflecting the sky, thought Gabrielle. She could even see patches that might be clouds. There was a shape in the middle of the still sloshing image, dark against the reflected sky. Gabrielle peered closer still. Was there really something there? The curtains in Ginny's room were pulled back from the window, after all. What, wondered Gabrielle, could the shape be? Was it her own reflection, or something else? If she tilted her head and got lower, she could see something behind the shape. It was not a reflection, she was sure of that now. She could See, which was a talent, one that everyone would recognize. There were letters in the background! A jumble of letters she couldn't read, but some of them looked backwards. She could guess that meant eastern Europe. Gabrielle allowed herself to be impressed with herself; that was quite some distance for her first time. First successful time, reminded a stray thought. There was a darker patch just beyond the shape, where there was a glint. If I could just get the right angle, thought Gabrielle, I could See that also.

Abruptly, the dark shape changed, and red, beady eyes glared into her own. It was a rat! Gabrielle gave a little shriek as paws with sharp nails made the image ripple and splash, as if the view was looking up from water. Gabrielle pulled back. When she looked back into the pool of ink, the images were gone.

"(Did you see that? It was a rat! I saw it. I - Saw - it!)" exclaimed Gabrielle.

"What? What are you saying?" asked Ginny. She held out a handkerchief. "Here, clean yourself up."

"It was ze rat," repeated Gabrielle. She wiped her nose with her hand. "I - Saw - it! Zere was ze sky, ze rat, and ze letters which were -" Gabrielle noticed her hand. Oh no.

"Use the handkerchief next time," snorted Ginny. "You really saw something?"

"Oui," mumbled Gabrielle, looking at her hand. Indelible, that's what George had said. Which was the same as saying it would not come off. Mirror, hinted an alarmed thought. Gabrielle turned to the vanity, and the world ended. The locks of hair around her face were still a red, only it was a lot more orange than before. Her nose was a smear of black, and her face was now very pale from the sight of the awful visage before her. She looked like, like... like that muggle clown outside the bistro near the fountain, the pathetic clown that made the little children turn away and their parents cross the street. All she needed was some twisted balloons and she could scare off foot-traffic also. What was she supposed to do now? Wiping a tear only made it worse.

"Come on," said Ginny while pushing Gabrielle down into the chair. "Let's see what we can do. _Scourgify. Scourgify!_ Um... _delaver._" The spells had no effect on the ink. Gabrielle had not even bothered hoping. "Erm, I think I'll just go and see if Hermione is up. You wait right there. And don't touch anything, all right?" As if, thought Gabrielle, I would go anywhere looking like this. She recognized the tone of Ginny's voice. It was the exaggerated calm used in hospitals, right before the healer's aide would, once clear of the door, break into a run.

Sometime later Hermione stepped into the room smartly, with several books. Just like, sighed Gabrielle, the needed healer the aide would have sought. She will now, predicted Gabrielle, claim that it is not so bad.

Gabrielle was almost right. Hermione swallowed a giggle before composing herself again. "Ah. Ginny made it sound much worse." Ginny looked rather doubtful about that, and Gabrielle select a Look of Death, class two. "All right, it is pretty bad. Where's the ink?"

"We were using this," said Ginny. She held the silver inkpot out to Hermione. Gabrielle noticed that that she now did this very carefully, using the napkin.

"That's from Gringotts," declared Hermione. "Didn't you recognize it? How did you get it?"

"I didn't. We never had reason to spend much time there," explained a pinking Ginny. "Verity dropped it off for Effy."

"Fred," said Gabrielle. "He gave it to me." This - the hair, the ink - it was all Fred's fault. More or less.

"Fred took something from Gringotts? That's not a good idea for a prank. Goblins can be rather, erm, testy about that sort of behavior," said Hermione. She closed the book she held and frowned, "Magic won't take it off, least not magic anyone has lived to write about."

"What do you mean by zat?"

"If wizards could change contracts and deeds at will, well, the whole economic system would just collapse! Gringotts insures that does not happen. Rather viciously at times, if historical accounts are accurate."

"You can not, eh, help zen?" asked Gabrielle. She thought about the pink slime George had used on her. And, relished a second thought, not on Matty. That would work, except she really did not want George to see her like this. Ginny, brightened Gabrielle, could ask George for her, and ask Fred about the colored hair.

"Perhaps we can floo Bill," suggested Hermione. "It'll wear off of skin, of course, but there must be a way to deal with everyday mishaps." Gabrielle liked her own idea better. There was less chance of Fleur finding out. "But honestly. How did you not notice the ink on your hand?"

"I might've, er, gotten the order wrong in front of Mum," said Ginny. "Effy was scrying, and got a little too close when she saw something."

v - v - v - v - v

Hermione was very surprised at Gabrielle's success, so much so that she sought corroboration from Ginny. The youngest Weasley could offer none, pointing out that she had not been able to see anything as Gabrielle had put her face into the ink. Gabrielle took affront to both the question and answer, so while she assured the two witches that she could recall all the important details of what she had Seen, she also told then she would not until they had gotten the pink slime from, she emphasized that, from George and had made Fred return her hair to normal. Hermione looked like she was about to argue, but Ginny laughed and told the older girl that they had been terrible influences on Gabrielle. Hermione wanted to argue that, but Ginny pulled her from the room. Gabrielle felt like she wanted to argue the last point as well, but she couldn't work out which side to take. Instead, she concentrated on remembering the writing. Some of the letters had been larger, those were probably most important.

Fred arrived shortly, and began laughing at Gabrielle's ink-stained condition. She was ready for that, though, and brought up her wand for the silencing spell. It put an end to the laughter, although that was more because of the surprise than the spell actually working.

"Is it a bank holiday? Witch-with-a-B day, perhaps?" asked Fred quite, Gabrielle was pleased to hear, quietly. "_ Finite! _I've had more'n enough wands pointed at me already today. Having some trouble with your makeup there Gigi?"

"Eh what? It is ink, of course."

"Oh yes, of course. A French technique, I'm sure. We British just use a quill. You know, feathered thing with a nib on?"

"I was, eh, looking for, eh, zat Wormtail, for Harry, and -"

"Where? In a bottle of ink?"

"Shut up, Fred, and, eh, fix my hair," ordered Gabrielle with an imperial wave. She wondered if Verity had been among those pointing a wand at him.

Fred stepped behind Gabrielle. "Not really my thing - can never get braids straight. I'll give it a go, though." He raised his wand.

"No, not zat! I mean ze color," said Gabrielle in exasperation, pulling the orange locks forward. "Hermione tried to fix Fleur's mistake wizz zee new Wheeze, and zis happened."

"Hmm, I see," said Fred vaguely. "What do you want me to do?"

Gabrielle found herself counting. And wishing for a meat fork. "I am going home, eh, today. I want my hair as it, eh, was, for Maman."

"Oh. Easy enough; it'll wear off in a day or two by itself. But, er..."

"What? What will happen?" demanded Gabrielle. Why couldn't George be in charge of these things?

"Remember that talk about, er, not getting something for nothing?" asked Fred. Gabrielle nodded and her hopes dimmed. "This might sting a bit..."

v - v - v - v - v

It had stung, if by that one meant the feeling of thousands of needles being jabbed into one's scalp. It was much worse than Madame Pomfrey's mallet. Gabrielle could not help the tears that came to her eyes. In the uncomfortable silence that followed, broken only by her snuffling, it seemed to Gabrielle that even Fred was taken aback. He appeared to be at a loss as to what to do, shifting uneasily. Possibly this, thought Gabrielle, was where Verity looked for sweetness. Fred's unease did not stop him from finally producing a small package, and asking her, even with her head slumped into her hands, to see that the 'Toolies' received it. He astutely retreated after that, because Gabrielle had gone to her trunk to fish out her knife.

The pain faded, and Gabrielle inspected her hair. For all the agony he had caused, Fred had missed quite a few strands, leaving streaks in her pale blond hair. The effect was subtle, and Gabrielle decided that she liked it. Orange was not her best color, but the small amount added warmth. It was just as well that she hadn't stabbed Fred. Mrs. Weasley came by to remind Gabrielle that she was missing breakfast, and needed to hurry. The matron was left dumbfounded by the extent of the ink stain on Gabrielle's face, and suspicious of the vague explanation. Gabrielle was fairly certain, though, that Ginny would want to keep the scrying secret.

Hermione and Ginny arrived with bad news that took the form of a small ceramic jar. George was not at the Burrow. Yet. Nor was he answering the floo at the shop. So he was on his way over, hoped Gabrielle. Ginny had gone ahead and contacted Bill at Gringotts, and he had advised her to contact Fleur for an exfoliant. That ceramic jar meant that Fleur knew, and would probably stop by with her camera to record the incident. Gabrielle twisted open the lid. It was the green stuff - ick.

As Gabrielle gently abraded her face, deep cleaning as well as refreshing and moisturizing her skin - according to the label - she noticed that Ginny was very distracted. She asked what was wrong. The three witches were cramped in the hall bath.

"Bill said that the goblins are really upset right now. Erm, someone nicked all the, er, inkpots from the lobby. And from a storeroom in the back."

"You think Fred and George did it?" asked Hermione. "That they stole things Gringotts? That, that would be amazing and stupid."

"Well, I mean, the ink's from Gringotts, right?" noted Ginny.

Gabrielle turned to them green in the face with avocado. "Verity said zat Fred was, eh, passing ze inkpots out all day. George told me zat Fred was, eh, angry because zey did not get ze, eh, first page." He told only me, smiled Gabrielle to herself. That was followed by an inner frown - she had told them now.

"Is Bill going to be all right? Have the goblins worked it out?" wondered Hermione.

"Well I couldn't ask him that, now could I?" said Ginny. "Bill said the goblin warlocks were still trying to figure how far in they got. He's helping to work out how it was done, after all that was added after the last time. You know, Effy, you're going to need to scrub harder. I can still see some ink."

Gabrielle checked the mirror. 'Some ink' was an understatement. That they thought it would work at all was a wonder. Her coven sisters did not know, but the ceramic jar came from a small boutique near Rue Saint-Lazare. A thoroughly muggle boutique, full of what Gabrielle always thought of as the muggle version of potions. The products they sold were all like the goo, listing various recognizable plant ingredients before things like stearic acid, polycarbo-whatever and other mysterious things. She scooped some more of the gritty, green paste onto her face.

"This should help," said Hermione with a wave of her wand. A wash cloth leapt onto Gabrielle's face and attacked. "Stop thrashing about! You'll hurt your - Ow!"

"I've got her," said Ginny, catching up Gabrielle's arms. Gabrielle tried to pull loose - the cloth covered her nose and mouth, and it was hard to get a breath in. The vicious towel also got some of the exfoliant into her eye. Gabrielle attempted to kick Ginny, but since she could not see and Ginny was quick, it was to no avail.

After a minute of skin-shredding scrubbing, the wash cloth went limp and dropped back down to the sink. Then it flopped itself into the water and began swimming in a slow circle. Gabrielle was released, and glared with her one open eye at Hermione, who was holding a handkerchief to her face. "(You can not just cast spells on me!)" snapped Gabrielle.

"(I did not. I cast a spell on the towel,)" argued Hermione nasally. "Anyway, I think that's done it." Gabrielle seethed, and tried to decide what to throw.

"Give it a rinse and let's see," ordered Ginny. "You didn't want George to laugh at you, did you?" Gabrielle turned back to the sink, and, wary of the still-moving cloth, started rinsing. She did not want George to laugh at her, that was true, but she also wanted to be treated as an equal. She was a proper witch, with talents even. Talent, corrected the traitorous thought. She should not have to put up with others forcibly scrubbing her like she was just a child - even though it had worked, and her face was no longer stained with black. Now her face was just very, very pink and tingly.

"Now put some on your hand, and we'll finish up," said Hermione as if there was no other choice.

"And tell us about the writing," added Ginny. This, thought Gabrielle, did not feel very equal either.

v - v - v - v - v

On the other hand, smiled Gabrielle as her trunk was levitated down the stairs by Hermione, she only had to ask for something before answering the coven's questions. Ginny fetched her breakfast, then some juice, and then boiling water for making coffee. A definite step toward equality! Gabrielle sent her off again for a piece of chocolate cake, but Ginny hadn't returned. That either meant Ron had eaten all of the leftover cake, or that Ginny had had enough. Gabrielle had asked the redhead for the most, because Hermione's nose had been bloodied. Not that that, Gabrielle reminded herself, was really her fault.

Gabrielle continued on into the kitchen. There was a piece of chocolate cake left, from one covered in ganache. It sat on a plate on the kitchen table, next to Ginny. And Fred. Fred had a small egg-timer next to the mug in front of him. The two pulled apart as soon as Gabrielle entered. Mr. Weasley, whom Gabrielle was expecting to find, was not present. George, whom Gabrielle was hoping to find, was also not there. It made her worried. Harry and Ron huddled together, heads bent over a sheaf of parchment, the single quill they had constantly changing owners.

"Oh, I'm sorry Effy. I was about to bring this up," smiled Ginny innocently. She held out the plate to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle did not take it. Did Ginny think her stupid? There was no time for a Wheeze now. "Eh, no zank you," said Gabrielle with a forced smile and a roll of her eyes. Such a lame attempt, thought Gabrielle. She expected Fred would say something to Ginny.

"Are you sure, Effy? It's sweet; it's chocolaty. Sooo chocolaty. You can smell the aroma, can't you?" crooned Ginny, wafting the plate back and forth under Gabrielle's nose. Gabrielle found her eyes tracking the thick slice, and blinked rapidly. It smelled fabulous, looked scrumptious, and was definitely... suspicious. And what was Ginny doing to her? She was acting like Fleur!

Gabrielle pushed the plate away. "Zat does not work on me." At least this time. "Zere is not time for zis."

"Always time for cake," piped Fred. "Last piece too. Mum held it back just for you." Gabrielle could tell, could see that something had been done to it. There were patches on the top that looked the tiniest bit different. Why couldn't they have ruined something less delicious?

"And zen you did zee prank on it," accused Gabrielle.

"Moi? I am innocent," claimed Fred in an offended tone. There was a snort from Ron. "Oy!"

"Zen Ginny did. It was for me," complained Gabrielle, a hint of whine coming into her voice.

"Don't know what you mean," shrugged Ginny. "Here, I'll have a bit." She picked up the fork and carefully took a small amount from the side. Gabrielle guessed that she was trying to avoid the patches. Ginny took another strategically chosen forkful.

"Where's our Blond Bludger today?" teased Fred.

"What happened to you?" called out Ron in concern, standing up. Hermione had come into the kitchen.

"Oh, er, is it noticeable? I was giving Beebee a hand, and, quite by accident - " started Hermione before Fred jumped in.

"That's more like it, Gigi!" crowed Fred. He pushed a spoon at Gabrielle. "Sure you don't want any? It looks lovely. No? D'you mind then?" Fred scooped out a big chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. Gabrielle couldn't be sure if he had avoided the patches, but she was appalled that the sublime, decadent richness of the cake was totally wasted on Fred. That had been three bites worth in one swallow. This was not fair.

"Quidditch plays? You're working on quidditch plays?" blurted Hermione as she riffled through the parchment in front of Harry and Ron.

"No! No, it, er, it could, er, it's a kind of code!" declared Ron. Harry slapped his hands to his mouth. Gabrielle watched Fred dig out another huge crater from her piece of cake.

"A code?" asked Hermione in disbelief. "Is that what it is? Is that right Harry?" The boy-who-lived did not answer, and was turning red in the face.

"You bloody great git!" snapped Ron, shoving Harry over. Harry fell to the floor laughing. "That would have worked." Ginny aimed her fork at the point of the diminished wedge.

"Stop!" cried Gabrielle. She did not think that Fred was avoiding any part of the cake in particular, and the little tip had not looked tampered with. "Eh, I will try a small bite." Ginny shrugged and passed her the fork. Gabrielle cut off her favorite part, the nub from the very center of the cake, and put it into her mouth. It was every bit as good as she remembered, even better really, because this was always the best part. Gabrielle swallowed. Fred flipped over the egg-timer, took a drink from the mug, then passed it to Ginny who did the same. With a surge of frustration and shame, Gabrielle realized that she had been tricked. She snatched the mug from Ginny. It was empty. Gabrielle, however, was filled with anger. "(I knew it! I knew you did something! I hate you!)" She flailed at Fred with the mug, but he was ready for her with his wand.

"Oh, did you want some tea?" asked Fred innocently. Gabrielle was rooted in place, and couldn't move. Fred examined the egg-timer critically. "Feeling hot? A bit swollen, perhaps?" He and Ginny stepped back and ducked behind their former chairs. Gabrielle felt panic take control. Was she going to explode?

"What have you done Fred?" asked Hermione in alarm, giving up on the two boys.

Gabrielle was immobile, but not silenced. She could see the sand running down, and if she thought about it, she did feel a little hot. "(Mrs. Weasley! Mrs. Weasley! Help!)" Thank Merlin for the widened gaps, thought Gabrielle.

"Get off my legs Ron, I want to watch too," complained Harry from the floor.

Mrs. Weasley burst into the room. "What is going on?"

Gabrielle found she could move again, and turned to face her potential savior. "(Mrs. Weasley! I am going to explode! Make Fred stop it!)" she said quickly.

"Calm down, dear," said the matron. "What is this about?"

"(I am going to explode! There is no time to calm down!)" shouted Gabrielle.

"She is deranged," whispered Ron.

Mrs. Weasley took hold of Gabrielle's shoulders. "Gabrielle, I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

"I am going to, eh, eh, burst," said Gabrielle less frantically. "Fred did zis!"

"What? I've done nothing. Nothing tangible," denied Fred with a wide grin.

"You're going to burst?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"She might mean explode," added Hermione helpfully.

"Oui! When ze egg-timer is fini! You must make Fred give ze tea!"

"You mean this egg-timer?" Mrs. Weasley reached over and picked it up from the table, showing it to Gabrielle.

"Oui! Oui!" exclaimed Gabrielle in exasperation. "When it is -" All the sand was already in the bottom chamber. She had not exploded. Fred and Ginny started laughing, and Gabrielle felt herself blush down to her toes. She had let herself be tricked. Again.

"I have warned you about the twins before, young lady, yet you insist on trailing after them," scolded Mrs. Weasley gently. She glared at Fred. "The excitement is over Fred. Am I clear on that?"

"You find Mad-Eye if you want - I've not given her a thing," claimed Fred.

"Alastor... has not been acting responsibly," sniffed Mrs. Weasley. "That, that..."

"Lothario?" offered Harry.

Mrs. Weasley left through the entry hall door, looking for Mr. Weasley. She was, judged Gabrielle, not in the mood for the levity that had followed. Gabrielle considered joining her since she had made such a fool of herself. But then, what if they did not return here before the port-key left? How would George find her?

"Go on, Gigi," encouraged Fred. "There's naught wrong with the cake." He leaned in to whisper, "It's your prank-prank." Gabrielle didn't know what to believe now. She poked at the cake, but didn't eat.

"Fred, how did you and George get into Gringotts?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, the usual way," answered Fred with a smirk. "Used the door."

"How did you get away then?"

"Same way. Blimey, I know we're good but we can't walk through walls," replied Fred. "Holes in walls, yes, but not your regular, bog-standard wall."

"You just carried off the inkpots under your robes, then? Right past the goblins and the probity probes?"

"No goblins around," shrugged Fred. "Allegedly, mind you," he remembered to add.

"You and George just walked into Gringotts after hours?" asked Hermione doubtfully. "There's entire books listing the spells used on even one door, and those are likely long out-of-date."

"Here's a secret, dear Hermione, bookworm that you are. No one writes down the really good magic. Least not in books they'll let you have. You have to go to the source - who's usually an ancient rotter with his hand out," said Fred with bitterness. "All it took was one trick. Allegedly," he added. Fred winked at Gabrielle. "A Veela trick."

"Where is George?" blurted Gabrielle before Hermione could finish her question. Gabrielle had no idea what Fred was trying to do, but she was not going to take the blame for the inkpots.

"In the workroom, back at the shop, last I know," answered Fred.

"He's not answering the floo," noted Ginny.

"Oh yeah? He gets like that," said Fred looking pleased. "Means he's working on something good."

v - v - v - v - v

Mrs. Weasley finally returned with Mr. Weasley, which thankfully brought an end to Hermione's inquisition. The older girl did not believe that Gabrielle had not revealed some ancient secret, and insisted that Gabrielle or Fred explain. Gabrielle knew that she hadn't; she didn't know any. Hermione even suggested, in desperation, that there was another book. That implied, of course, that there was - a - book in the first place, about which there was much male speculation and female obfuscation. Hermione jumped and winced several times as a result of Ginny's retribution under the table. The wand, as it is said, finally sparked for Gabrielle when Fred conjured a drawing of one of Grigotts doors. She couldn't believe he was serious in what he was suggesting.

George had not arrived with his father. Whatever, fumed Gabrielle to herself, he is working on had better be fantastic. She felt angry, hurt, and confused. Had he forgotten that she was leaving? Had he forgotten... the perfect moment? Had there been such a moment, asked a mean thought, at all?

And now it really was time to go. Mrs. Weasley gave Gabrielle an enveloping hug and told her she was always welcome at the Burrow. It further roiled Gabrielle's emotions, and left her watery-eyed. She got a hug from Ginny too, who offered to share her room if she did visit again. Hermione delivered a surprisingly crushing hug. Harry and Ron just stood awkwardly near to say their goodbyes, but Fred embraced her also. He did not even drop Gabrielle to the floor, which, she supposed, was him being sweet again. But what one would have to put up with! It was a good thing Verity was insane already. Fred did take the opportunity to remind her about the package for the Touliers. Gabrielle decided to play for time, and gave Harry and Ron a stiffly-received hug each. Then she delivered another to everyone else in turn, until Mrs. Weasley finally had to push her to the entry hall and door.

By then Gabrielle had remembered something else, something that would be both useful and would give more time for her tardy, almost-boyfriend to arrive. "Eh, Mrs. Weasley? Please, I can have ze apron wizz zee little egg? For ze souvenir?"

"Oh, er, yes. Of course. I have some nicer ones instead of that old thing, if you'd like," offered the house mother.

"Zank you, but, eh, I wore zat one to help wizz breakfast," explained Gabrielle. Mrs. Weasley looked uncertain, so Gabrielle smiled her best and added, "It will remind me of cooking wizz you."

It worked. Mrs. Weasley smiled back with misty eyes. "Go ahead then, dear, you've been a treasure."

The apron was back on its lonely hook in the kitchen proper, but Gabrielle looked for it in the drawers and cabinets anyway because that took longer. Then she bade farewell to the wafflemaker, the kettle, who blew steam at her half-heartedly, and Geff. At least, she might have said goodbye to the house-elf. He did not reply, and Gabrielle could not see to the top of the icebox. She might have only said goodbye to his little, eh, nest. Either way, at least a couple more minutes had been gained. Enough that an anxious Mr. Weasley came in to hurry her along, but not enough for George to have arrive. Boys, thought Gabrielle glumly, are stupid.

v - v - v - v - v

The auror Moody met them halfway across the clearing. He walked next to Mr. Weasley, gesturing animatedly at a brass pocket-watch. Gabrielle trudged behind; she noticed that Monsieur Moody's sling was gone. Perhaps Madame Pomfrey had caught up with him. Gabrielle doubted it, though, since he was not resting.

Gabrielle tried to decided whether or not to hope she missed the port-key. One part of her wanted to, since it would let her see George one more time, and maybe see the shop. The other part of her knew she would get nothing but grief from Maman if she did miss it, plus the possible humiliation of finding out that George was not late, but... uninterested.

A billow of white smoke erupted from the ground with a bang, a little ways to the side. Mr. Weasley stopped abruptly, letting Gabrielle's trunk drop, and he moved to place himself between Gabrielle and the cloud. Monsieur Moody, noted Gabrielle, was not alarmed and did not stop, only snorting in disgust.

George stepped from the cloud. "Ho, that's a relief. I thought I'd missed you."

Gabrielle closed her mouth, which had dropped open, then opened it again to exclaim, "George!" That sounded too relieved to her ears, without the anger she should be feeling. "George," tried Gabrielle again. That was curt enough, thought Gabrielle, but did it convey the need for him to make amends?

"Hullo luv, hullo Dad," greeted George cheerily, obviously not noticing the tone of her voice, to Gabrielle's annoyance. "Best not keep Mad-Eye waiting." He gestured to the auror who had continued stumping his way across the clearing.

Most wizards your age try to see how quietly they can apparate," hinted Mr. Weasley. He levitated the trunk again and started off. "You and Fred get louder each year."

"That wasn't apparition. That - was an entrance," said George theatrically.

"George!" said Gabrielle again, with a bit of the fury she had intended. That stopped him. He should, determined Gabrielle, apologize for being late, and even grovel a bit before she forgave him.

"Oh. Right. I made something for you," smiled George. "Come on, you don't want to miss your port-key." He reached for her hand, an unexpected moved that chased away Gabrielle's anger. "Now I'll just need a bit of your blood..."

"A bit - what? Ow!" winced Gabrielle.

"Steady on - a dab just there, and it's done," muttered George, firmly holding her hand. "_Episky. _Here, take a look."

Gabrielle took her hand back first. A present was good, yes, but she was really expecting a... bitter-sweet embrace and, as he contemplated the reality of her absence, a declaration of some sort. Like in Aunt Laurel's wireless program. She was not expecting to be stabbed. George held something floppy and brown in his hand. It might have been made of leather. "Eh, what is zat?" asked Gabrielle suspiciously. It did not look like the kind of gifts Fleur had always received from boys.

"It's a liner for you handbag," announced George with some pride.

"Oh. Eh... zank you," said Gabrielle slowly. She felt she concealed her confusion well. She also realized that there was much work to be done here.

"It'll only open for you now. It's like our boxes, except you can pull what you want out of it instead of whatever went in last. It won't disappear when empty either. Probably - try to leave something in it. Bloody expensive too. Er, don't tell Fred, right? I had to use a good bit of the dragon bladder supply," explained George. He was juggling the contents of Gabrielle's handbag with his wand while tucking the leathery item into place. Poisseux's frantic swimming motions caused him to tumble as he twirled through the air.

Unfortunately, assembling the improved handbag was not a one-handed operation. George solved that by launching Gabrielle's belongings some thirty meters into the air, to give him time to seal the new liner in place. He deftly caught most of the items with a swish of his wand, but her poor pets, being lighter than everything else, were taken by the breeze. As Gabrielle ran after her wayward familiars before she lost them in the undergrowth, it occurred to her that she had better make sure this Weasley was not actually Fred. After all, he did not appear to be affected by the skirt she wore.

"Go on, give it a try," urged, possibly, George, handing her back the handbag. Gabrielle opened it, and held it open which allowed George, or Fred, to drop its former contents back in from the air. There was no perceptible increase in weight, which Gabrielle thought might not be a good thing. How would she know if she had forgotten something? Looking into the bag was like looking down into the manor's foyer from the top of the stairs. Everything seemed so small and far away; she would need a handbag for her handbag. There also seemed to be quite a lot of things in the handbag already.

"Eh, it is nice. Eh, very nice, of course," said Gabrielle politely. "Zere are many, eh, things in it -"

"I put together a bit of a sampler from the shop," explained George, leaning in. Or Fred. He didn't smell like Fred, though. "'Thought maybe you could seed the market for us a little." Oh yes, the shop, thought Gabrielle. She would be expelled for certain. Gabrielle knew she would have to hide the contraband somewhere - well, pointed out a second thought, it's already hidden, and very securely too. She just might not dare to take it to Beauxbatons. Setting aside those worries, Gabrielle took advantage of George's closeness to thank him once again, with a bit more enthusiasm, and she managed a quick peck on his cheek. The ears did not lie.

The pause to recover her toad and puffskein, or the former of each, had put them some distance behind the auror and George's father. Mr. weasley waved at them to hurry up the hill, where Monsieur Moody was closely examining a raggedy old towel and a crushed plastic bottle. The towel, dirty though it was, won his favor and he held it up for Mr. Weasley's attention. The port-key had been found.

This was it. Gabrielle looked at George, who looked back at her. He stood at that awkward distance again, neither close nor distant. Gabrielle willed him to say something, to do something. She looked at him wistfully; she looked at him expectantly; she looked at him mournfully. Impatience got the better of Gabrielle, and she looked at George like he was the stupidest boy on earth. A mean thought in her head pointed out that Fleur never had to work this hard.

"You all right, luv?" asked George. Unbidden, Fred's story about George forgetting a girl's name after dating her for a year came to Gabrielle's mind. Was this how it started? "Fred an' I might do some location scouting later in the year, over near -"

"What is my name, George?" blurted Gabrielle. It sounded horribly desperate to her ears. Now the port-key could not activate soon enough.

"That's an easy one. 'G' is for Gabrielle, Gabrielle Jeanne Delacour," grinned George. "You do keep reminding us," he added teasingly.

Gabrielle was surprised. How had he learned her middle name? She never used it; it was too plain, even if it was quite famous. Gabrielle could not stand the uncertain distance any longer, and closed the gap between them. She had hugged everyone else, after all - even Ron. She would hug George as well, but what Gabrielle really hoped for was an embrace. A true, lingering embrace from his strong, warm arms that would reassure her that, even though they would now part, in their hearts they would always be together. It took an extra step than expected, because George stepped back, but Gabrielle was not deterred and caught up the front of his robes. He had, thought Gabrielle, probably noticed her skirt and was fighting for control.

"I, eh, must go now, George," said Gabrielle softly. In her head, violins began to play.

"Ah, right. Goodbye then, luv," said George, pulling her into a brief hug that Gabrielle lengthened by not letting go. "Think of us now and then, especially in detention."

"Tu m'ecriras? Attendras-tu, pour moi?" sniffled Gabrielle. The music she imagined was making her sad.

"Er, oui, d'accord," replied George. The way he looked at her, Gabrielle thought she might get a kiss. She tilted her head just so, but then George continued, "Je vais, er, acre, beaucoup." He held her tightly once more for a moment. George was able to take her hands and disentangle himself, because Gabrielle was trying to decipher his attempt at French. It had sounded, thought Gabrielle, like he was trying to say that he often smelled. What could he have meant? Was he saying he was not worthy of her love?

Gabrielle meant to allay George's doubts, but Mr. Weasley pulled her away firmly. That was probably due to Maman's, and particularly Papa's, interference, thought a peeved Gabrielle. With her trunk in one hand and the dirty towel in the other, Gabrielle smiled one last time at George.

"Make us proud, luv," encouraged George, which was not what Gabrielle was hoping to hear. That was possibly because Mr. Weasley was standing right there, she concluded. Their's was a forbidden, tragic love. "Oh! Did Fred give you a -" And then George and the Weasleys and Harry Potter and Hermione and the Burrow whirled away.

C'est la fin.


End file.
